Many Shades of Black
by Moonofwinds
Summary: Jazz finds an Enforcer in the ruins of Praxus. Even though Enforcers are the lackeys of Megatron he stays with the mech so that he won't deactivate alone. Except the mech doesn't die. Eventual J/P. Shades Verse. (Trigger warnings for chapter 7).
1. Chapter 1

Many Shades of Black

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; I'm just prostituting it for my amusement.

Summary: NOT TEETH VERSE Jazz finds an Enforcer in the ruins of Praxus. Even though Enforcers are the lackeys of Megatron he stays with the mech so that he won't deactivate alone. Except the mech doesn't die.

Warning: M/M robot smut, war

Pairings: Jazz/ Prowl

**Klik: One Minute, **1.2 minutes

**Joor: One Hour, **not giving it a specific length, suffice it to say that Cybertron does not share the same orbit or rotation as Earth, an hour, a day would be different lengths from ours

**Mega-cycle: One Day,** 93 hours/ joors

**Orn: One Week**, 13 mega-cycles

**Quartex: One Month,** 4 orns

**Stellar Cycle: One Year,** 7.5 quartexes

**Vorn: Length of Sparklinghood and Younglinghood: **83 stellar cycles.

How could anyone still be functional? Praxus wasn't just in ruin, it looked as though it had been wiped off the surface of Cybertron. Every building in the city-state had been flattened. The rubble had been vaporized in so many places that there wasn't even rubble left, only foundations. Jazz's fuel tank clenched with disgust. Through the reports buzzing over his comm, Jazz gathered that a few mechs had been pulled alive from the ruins of the state building, but given the multimillion population of Praxus, it wasn't even close to half of one percent of the population. Thousands of mechs, femmes and sparklings had been dug out dead from the ruins of city buildings and their homes. He himself had dug out at least a dozen dead mechs and femmes, and one crushed little sparkling. Rage and hopeful desperation were the only things that kept Jazz going. Until Optimus called for his team to return to Iacon, Jazz would continue to dig in the ruins of Praxus. He wanted to find one survivor, just one and maybe his spark would stop aching so much.

He moved from the twisted pile of rubble where he had been searching. According to his advanced visor sensors, there would be no survivors found here. With a bitter groan and a curse that asked Primus to shrivel Megatron's spark and send him into Unicron's embrace for all eternity. The image of that crushed sparkling remained cemented in the forefront of Jazz's processor, and he swore again. Someday, he would make Megatron pay for this. Jazz stalked slowly, and carefully around the rubble and onto the fractured and buried service that had once been the main street at Praxus's core. Several of the buildings had collapsed onto the street and Jazz could see the greying remains of too many mechs and femmes protruding from the rubble.

A bleep flashed over Jazz's visor, telling him that a spark was faintly humming in wreckage of the street. Throwing all caution to the winds, Jazz ran into the street, tripping over the rubble and catching himself as he tumbled to his knees. Still, he couldn't slow. The readout from his visor told Jazz he was getting closer and it also told him the spark was growing weaker by the second. When he was almost over top of the spark signature, Jazz dropped to his knees and began to dig with his bare servos.

"Someone's alive here," Jazz called over the comm. "Spark signature's real weak. Get a medic here fast."

The medic couldn't possibly get here fast enough. Jazz gritted his denta as he continued to dig. It didn't matter how fast he dug or how much rubble he moved, the spark pulse of the survivor underneath the twisted metal was growing weaker. This wasn't the survivor Jazz was hoping to find. He wanted to find someone who was going to _live_ but slag it if Jazz was going to let this mech or femme deactivate alone. A crumbled, energon stained black and white doorwing was Jazz's first glimpse of his quarry. From the size of the wing, Jazz knew this was a mech. From the cracked and bloodied insignia Jazz realized that this was an Enforcer. The cables of Jazz's abdomen tightened. An Enforcer, this was the survivor Jazz found. This was the mech he found alive and the one he knew he couldn't leave until his spark returned to the Allspark. It wasn't fair. Jazz swore as he kept digging. The Enforcers were no better than drones with sparks. They were Megatron's lackeys. So one of Megatron's ilk had been caught in Praxus's destruction. It couldn't have happened to a more deserving mech.

Jazz pushed the last of the rubble from the Enforcer's back and cleared his helm from the debris. The mech groaned and then coughed. He shuttered and wretched under Jazz's servos and Jazz smelled the sharp odour of purged coolant and energon. Not wanting the mech to swallow his vomit, Jazz gently tilted the mech's head to the side. A dim blue optic watched Jazz and the Enforcer tried to push himself up on his arms, which were trapped under his chassis..

"Easy, mech," Jazz said. His voice sounded far gentler than Jazz had expected. The mech was in pain, on his way to the Allspark, and even though he was a slagging Enforcer, Jazz's spark hurt for him and felt anger at Megatron for his suffering. "I'm going to dig out your legs. Just relax and I'll have you out in a klik."

Primus, his legs looked horrible. Jazz pushed down the urge to empty his tanks. He could see the armour of the Enformer's legs had been obliterated. Horribly broken leg struts had pierced through armour and energon and coolant poured freely from severed lines. There would be no way to move the mech without causing him pain but Jazz didn't think it was right to leave him to deactivate in a pool of his own vomit and energon. With as much care as he could manage, Jazz pulled the Enforcer from the rubble and cradled him in his arms. The mech cried out weakly. Energon and coolant gushed from the ruined tubing in his legs, and doorwings with each pulse of his spark. Jazz carried the Enforcer away from the rubble and laid sat him down on the fractured street.

The black and white mech, the same colouring as Jazz himself, was bleeding out fast. Jazz pulled his field kit from his subspace and set to work sealing off the leaking tubes. There were dozens of them in each leg and even more in the Praxian Enforcer's doorwings. It looked like every one of his energon and coolant lines had ruptured. His legs and doorwings were greying from lack of energon and coolant flow but his torso and faceplates still had their colour. Though the bleeding had mostly stopped, the Enforcer's spark was continuing to fade.

"It hurts," the mech moaned weakly, his optics were dim and glazed over with pain. "Please. My doorwings. Can't lie on them."

A shudder rolled through the mech's frame and he coughed, energon and coolant leaked from his mouth. The mixture was acidic and surely burning his insides. Jazz frowned, his visor hid his optics, and thus hid his internal struggle. Helping one of Megatron's lackeys, it ate at Jazz, and made Jazz's spark race with anger and disgust. But the mech looked so helpless, his optics pleaded with Jazz. Making a sound in his throat, Jazz lifted the Enforcer's back of the ground. His door wings were in awful shape, crushed, and bent at an unnatural angle. Doing his best to avoid damaging the Enforcer anymore, Jazz cradled him against his chassis. The mech rested his helm against Jazz's shoulder. The red chevron that graced the centre of his helm was fractured, only the small fragments remained connected to the white centre.

"I couldn't get home," the Enforcer wheezed. He looked up at Jazz with frantic optics. He was losing his colouring. "Blue and Smokey..."

"Shh," Jazz soothed. The mech was fading fast. Jazz couldn't in good conscience tell the mech that given the state of Praxus the odds of his family surviving were slim.

"I couldn't protect them," the Enforcer whimpered his body was wracked with pain. His spark hurt. "I failed them..."

"No, no," Jazz said. Without thinking, he lied. "Most of the sectors are pretty intact. We'll find your family. You just hang in there."

"Thank you," the Enforcer whispered. His voice was filled with static and his optics were so dim they were almost offline. Still Jazz could see he was focused on his visor. Without thinking, Jazz removed it and let the mech see his own blue optics.

"What's your designation, mech?" Jazz asked thinking that if by chance this Blue or Smokey lived, he could tell them that their brother, father, friend, whatever had not deactivated alone.

"Prowl," the Enforcer replied. His voice was almost unintelligible.

"I'm Jazz. Just hang in their and we'll find Smokey and Blue."

"Jazz," Prowl grimaced and coughed up more energon on Jazz's shoulder. He was going into stasis, and he knew it. He fought back the static in his voice. "Tell Smokey I'm sorry. He was right. Didn't do any good."

"You can tell him, Prowl," Jazz insisted. "You're not going anywhere."

"Lying," Prowl's reply came out as a brittle, static filled chuckle. "Didn't do any good staying. Couldn't protect them. Tell him to take care of Blue."

"Don't give up," Jazz ordered. "The medic's almost here, you're going to be alright."

"Lying," Prowl replied in such a quiet voice. His optics fell offline and his shutters closed. He fell limp in Jazz's arms.

"Slag, slag," Jazz swore. He reached a servo between them and felt the faint hum of Prowl's spark. Stasis. Prowl hadn't quite gone back to the Allspark yet.

The roar of engines made Jazz look up from Prowl, and he watched Ratchet and Hound race into view. Ratchet transformed the instant he saw Jazz and the limp mech in his arms. He ran over to Jazz and even as he knelt he pulled a diagnostic cable from his side and plugged it into the first functional port he found on Prowl's body, one over his spark chamber.

"His spark's leaving," Ratchet said, not disengaging himself from his patient. "He needs a transfusion of energon, now."

"You can use mine," Jazz spoke without thinking. The very instant after he spoke the words, Jazz found he didn't regret them.

"Give me your arm," Ratchet ordered. With surgical precision Ratchet opened the plating of Jazz's arm and clamped and severed one of the two main energon lines in Jazz's arm. He had Hound hold the loose line, keeping it clamped while he pulled out the main energon line to his patient's spark chamber. He clamp it off before severing it and quickly taking back Jazz's line from Hound, joined them together. Ratchet stared at his patient for a few clicks before disconnecting the diagnostic cable.

"He's barely stable," Ratchet said. "There's not a good chance of him making it but his only chance is to get him to the field hospital I set up in the outskirts of the city. If I can't get him on life support and stabilize his spark properly within the joor he doesn't have a chance."

"Load him in, and Jazz, you need to stay connected," Ratchet said as he transformed and opened the doors to his hold. "I'll keep track of both your vital signs."

The ride through the city was incredibly uncomfortable. As Ratchet swerved around debris, both Jazz and Prowl were jarred. Jazz watched the Enforcer, specifically his doorwings. Had Prowl been online, the way his doorwings rubbed against Ratchet's hold would have been agonizing. But Prowl remained offline, and Jazz let his optics move from Prowl's doorwings to his faceplates. They weren't greying as much as they had been. He moved one servo to cover Prowl's spark chamber as he cradled his open arm against his knee. Prowl's spark was pulsing so faintly, Jazz could barely feel it.

What had Prowl (Because he wasn't just the Enforcer now, he was Prowl) meant when he'd said that he hadn't done any good staying? What family argument had been so present in Prowl's processor that that the last words he had spoken were of it? More than half dead, Prowl managed to look handsome. His faceplates were perfectly symmetrical and perfectly smooth. None of his lines were sharp, they were soft. His voice had matched his frame. Did it still when he wasn't weak? Jazz found himself hoping to find out. Enforcer or no, Jazz wanted this mech to live.

Ratchet threw open his doors. Jazz looked out to see Hound and Trailbreaker standing next to a hovering gurney. By now Jazz was starting to feel dizzy. Hound and Trailbreaker loaded Prowl carefully onto the gurney before the helped Jazz up as well. He couldn't be disconnected from Prowl yet, so Jazz straddled Prowl's hips, careful to keep his weight off of the injured mech. Ratchet shouted orders for materials, supplies. Mechs moved out of the way of the gurney, and Ratchet without question, as they jogged quickly to the temporary surgery, Ratchet plugged himself back into his patient.

"Prowl," a frantic voice called from the the crowd medics working from patient to patient in the general triage.

"Smokescreen," Ratchet said, without looking away from his patient. "Stay out of my way."

"Primus, Prowl," Smokescreen moaned, and he followed Ratchet and the gurney but stayed out of Ratchet's way. He hovered by the canvas sheet that acted as a door to the surgery. After being disconnected from Prowl, Jazz left the surgery, holding his line clamped.

"Sit down, Jazz," Smokescreen gestured to a row of berths, just outside of the surgery. This was where the medic recharged.

"Hey, Smokescreen," Jazz said with a weary smile. "Thought you were a processor doc."

"I am," Smokescreen replied. "But I have training as a field medic as well."

"Huh," Jazz murmured. He sat as ordered and watched as Smokescreen pulled a few tools from his subspace and setting to work reattaching his line. It only took a few minutes before Jazz was patched up. He looked up to see Smokescreen holding a cube of energon out to him. Jazz took it and drank it quickly.

"You're Smokey," he said after finishing the cube.

"That I am," Smokescreen replied in an uncharacteristically quiet and subdued voice. He sat on the berth next to Jazz.

"So what are you two?" Jazz asked. He couldn't believe the Autobot psychologist was involved in any way with an Enforcer. Jazz didn't know the mech well but he had been debriefed and examined by him twice after difficult missions.

"He's my little brother," Smokescreen explained. "Where'd you find him, Jazz?"

"In the streets near the city centre," Jazz replied. "I dug him out of some rubble. Primus. I thought he was going to die on me and I just didn't feel right leaving a mech to die alone. Slagging Pit. How the frag do you have an Enforcer for a brother?"

"Our creators wanted him to be an Enforcer," Smokescream said. His voice showed the anger he had harboured towards his creators still. "They had an advanced logic processor and battle computer installed in his processor when he was just a little sparkling. It caused a whole slagging heap of problems for him. But he did what they wanted and joined up. Prowl... Prowl just wants to help everyone. When you see him, when he's repaired, you'll see he doesn't seem approachable. He seems cold. Prowl just doesn't wear his spark on his faceplates but he really cares about everyone. Every mech, femme and sparkling. That's why he stayed on. Even when he realized how corrupt the Enforcers were, he stayed on because he wanted to help."

"He told me to tell you, that you were right," Jazz said. "Right before he went into stasis. He wanted you to know, you were right that he hadn't been able to protect them. I guess he meant his patrols."

"Prowl would blame himself," Smokescreen sighed. "Primus, he was so grey."

"Ratchet'll take care of him," Jazz assured Smokescreen, trying to assure himself as well. "So, Smokey... Who's Blue?"

"Blue is an orphan Prowl found on one of his patrols," Smokescreen explained, suddenly so tired. His doorwings drooped. "He's a youngling. He needed a place to stay. The Enforcers were gathering up younglings off the street to be reprogrammed for Megatron. Prowl took Blue in to save him from that. He tried to warn off the other street younglings to avoid the patrols. Saved some of them, but lots of them still got rounded up. I think they, the younglings, are the main reason Prowl stayed on. He needed to protect them. Now most of them are dead in the streets. It's going to break his spark."

"Slag," Jazz swore. He felt like weeping for the pain Megatron had subjected Prowl too. It was strange how much his spark felt for a mech he didn't even know but the Prowl Smokescreen described seemed like such a caring, wonderful mech. "Is Blue okay?"

"Yeah, he's here," Smokescreen said. "When I heard about the 'Con army gathering here I went and got Blue. Prowl was working a double shift and he didn't answer his comm. He usually turns off his personal comm when he's on patrol."

"It's gonna save his spark knowing you're both functional," Jazz commented. "When he was talking about you at first, I'm sure he thought you were deactivated. I lied and said most of Praxus was okay. Didn't want him to deactivate thinking you were gone."

"Thank you, Jazz," Smokescreen said and clasped Jazz's shoulder. "Thank you for taking care of him."

A joor after Jazz had sat down with Smokescreen, a youngling with black, grey and red colouring bounded up to Smokescreen. He was shaking, and his doorwings stood up high on his back. Smokescreen pulled him down to sit on the berth between him and Jazz.

"He's in surgery Blue," Smokescreen explained to the frantic youngling. "Let me introduce you. This is Jazz; Jazz, this is Bluestreak. Jazz rescued Prowl, Blue."

"Good to meet you," Jazz said.

"Thank you so much for taking care of Prowl," Bluestreak gushed. "I was so sure he was gone. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, Bluestreak," Jazz said. The speed the youngling spoke at was surprising. "I'm glad I found him."

Bluestreak spoke without a break until he tired himself into recharge. By now Smokescreen was ready to crash. He stretched out on the berth and let Bluestreak cuddle up with him. Jazz sat on the floor, recharging lightly, not wanting to steal a medics berth. He dozed there until the medic called Hoist woke him and bullied him onto the berth next to Smokescreen's. When he onlined again, Jazz's chronometer told Jazz that it had been five joors since Ratchet had taken Prowl into the surgery and two joors since Jazz had sank into recharge on the borrowed berth. What had woken him? Ratchet!

Ratchet stood just outside of the canvas doorway, looking at Smokescreen and the youngling he had yet to be introduced to. Jazz hopped from the berth and walked over to the medic; Ratchet looked exhausted, and energon and coolant covered much of his chassis. But as weary as he looked, Ratchet did not look defeated. Jazz took this as a sign of hope.

"How is he, Ratch?" Jazz asked softly, trying not to wake the slumbering mechs.

"Stable," Ratchet replied in a strained voice. "I had to replace most of his lines and his leg struts and the cables in his legs. Oh, and all of his plating. I've replaced all of his coolant, oil, and energon. He's got a lot of painful recovery coming to him. His frame will take time to integrate the new components and his plating is basically raw."

"Poor mech," Jazz said and winced.

"He won't be leaving a berth for a few orns and longer than that before I release him from my clinic," Ratchet added. "I had to rebuild almost everything. Do you have any idea how sensitive doorwings are? They are covered in sensors. I had to replace all of them and connect them to brand new plating. Laying on them as I have him now would be excruciating if I hadn't disabled the sensory feed to his processor. Most of him's numb right now."

"Would it be okay if I stayed with him?" Jazz asked. "I don't think he should online alone?"

"He won't come online until I let him," Ratchet said. "But go ahead."

Ratchet gave him a long looked before nodding and heading to his own berth and laying down. Jazz entered the surgery. Nurses had cleaned up the surgery, and Prowl. Though Ratchet had said Prowl was stable, he still had the mech hooked up to a life support machine by several tubes connecting to Prowl from all around his spark chamber. It was a frightening sight. The new plating of Prowl's doorwings and legs was rough. Jazz could see where it had been welded together. The plating was all generic steel grey. Even the new chevron Ratchet had attached to Prowl's helm was grey. In due time, Jazz new Ratchet would buff Prowl's plating until he was smooth and someone who help Prowl repaint his frame. For now, Prowl looked painfully grey, though when Jazz came to stand next to Prowl's helm, he saw that his frame, and his faceplates had a healthy sheen. The sheen of life.

Jazz stood next to Prowl for joors. He was still standing with him when Ratchet returned from his brief recharge to check his patient. The medic forced a cube into Jazz's servos and plugged himself into a port under Prowl's arm. Ratchet made a sound of approval; Jazz watched him through his visor. Prowl's spark seemed to be pulsing strong now, but Jazz realized this was quite possibly just the result of the life support machine.

"He won't come out of stasis until I disconnect the machine," Ratchet said, finally. "Which I'm going to do now. Smokescreen and Bluestreak are refueling as we speak. If his spark isn't capable of pulsing steadily on its own, alarms are going to sound and I don't want his family to hear that."

"I want to stay," Jazz replied. "I'll stay out of your way, but I'd really like to stay."

"Fine," Ratchet replied and without another word he disconnected the tubes from around Prowl's spark chamber. After an anxious klik, Ratchet pronounced Prowl's spark as strong and stable.

"Can't believe he made it," Ratchet said, shaking his helm. "Strong spark. He'll come around when he's ready now. I need to update his family."

"I'll stay," Jazz announced.

"You're pretty attached to him," Ratchet noted with veiled optics.

"He's the only mech I found alive," Jazz explained, he vented. "I was so sure he was going to deactivate in my arms. I just don't want to step back until I see him online again."

"He's not going to feel very lucky but he is one of the lucky ones," Ratchet said, now looking terribly defeated. "Most of the survivors lost everyone. His family is intact. That'll help keep him together during his recovery."

Jazz nodded and Ratchet left. With a tentative servo, Jazz touched the casing of Prowl's spark. He shuttered his optics and concentrated entirely on the steady pulse of the spark just centimetres under his servo. Primus must have loved Prowl to bring him through this alive. Still, from what Smokescreen had said, Prowl would be hurting in his spark far worse than he would be hurting in his frame when he onlined and learned the level of the destruction of Praxus. Jazz vented and moved his servo to tenderly stroke the mech smooth faceplate. He never would have guess that the Enforcers could have included a mech like the Prowl Smokescreen had described. He sounded like a contradiction; Jazz was one himself and he felt an unexpected ache to get to know Prowl and help him through the loss of his home.

A soft sound escaped Prowl's lips and drew Jazz's full attention to first Prowl's lips and then to his entire face. The shutters of his optics dragged open slowly. Jazz stared intently at Prowl's offline optics until with a quick flicker, they came online and Prowl stared back at him.

End Chapter 1

A/N The title of this fic comes from Adele's song, Many Shades of Black. This is not a song fic. At all. But I take inspiration wherever it comes. This is a completely new verse. Please enjoy it.

I plan to update this once a week, depending on how much I get written. It will largely depend on how much I write. I do need to get back to other fics as well.


	2. Chapter 2

Many Shades of Black

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; I'm just prostituting it for my amusement.

Summary: Jazz finds an Enforcer in the ruins of Praxus. Even though Enforcers are the lackeys of Megatron he stays with the mech so that he won't deactivate alone. Except the mech doesn't die.

Warning: M/M robot smut, war

Pairings: Jazz/ Prowl

**Klik: One Minute, **1.2 minutes

**Joor: One Hour, **not giving it a specific length, suffice it to say that Cybertron does not share the same orbit or rotation as Earth, an hour, a day would be different lengths from ours

**Mega-cycle: One Day,** 93 hours/ joors

**Orn: One Week**, 13 mega-cycles

**Quartex: One Month,** 4 orns

**Stellar Cycle: One Year,** 7.5 quartexes

**Vorn: Length of Sparklinghood and Younglinghood: **83 stellar cycles.

Jazz found himself unable to look away from Prowl's intense, though cloudy optics. The mech's gaze was intense, and Jazz wondered if Prowl himself was as intense. Prowl shifted slightly on the berth and moaned softly as his faceplates crunched up with an expression of pain.

"Easy, easy," Jazz soothed, and he rubbed Prowl's shoulder. "Doc Bot doesn't want you moving around. He disabled a lot of your sensors..."

"Coming online," Prowl groaned through clenched denta. "Logic computer... Onlining doorwings."

"Oh slag," Jazz swore. He called Ratchet over the comm.

"Ah," Prowl groaned and his whole body tensed. When he looked up at Jazz again his optics were no long clouded. It was as if there were no pain killers in his system.

"Look at me Prowler," Jazz said. "Doc Bot's going to be back in a klik. Just concentrate on my voice, 'kay? I met Smokey and Blue. They're here and they're okay. Not a scratch. Mech, you scared a few stellar cycles off of them."

"Not lying?" Prowl asked as he fought to keep his processor from surrendering to the growing pain flooding it from every system. Bluestreak and Smokescreen were functional?

"No," Jazz promised. "Just as soon as Doc Bot gets back here and makes you comfortable I'll bring them in to see you."

Coolant tears formed in Prowl's optics and Jazz reached to wipe away the first tears that fell. Poor mech. Jazz wished, plaintively, that he had some way to soothe Prowl but he was helpless to do more that wait for Ratchet. Thank Primus, Ratchet barrelled through the canvas door only a few kliks later. Knowing better than to get in Ratchet's way, Jazz stepped aside, hovering by Prowl's head, while Ratchet plugged into his patient and ran a diagnostic. Prowl's spark pulsed rapidly and his vents hissed and his chassis shuddered. Through his diagnostic cable, Ratchet was able to download a complex string of pain killing programs and physically rewrite the programming from Prowl's doorwings to his processor.

"Alright Prowl," Ratchet finally spoke. "I've rewritten a little of your code so your processor thinks you don't have doorwings. Don't know how long it will take for your logic computer to figure it out but I need you to tell someone when you get even twinges from them so I can rewrite it again. You were damaged extensively, especially your legs and doorwings as well as your back. The pain you were feeling was from all the new components I had to install when I rebuilt your limbs. I've uploaded several pain killing programming into your systems. Your battle computer won't be able to burn through them quite as quickly. I'll upload new ones every joor. Right now I'm uploading a program that will take you offline for a little longer. Let yourself recharge."

"Thank you," Prowl replied in a soft voice, no longer marred by pain. His optics offlined and their shutters pulled closed as Prowl's faceplates smoothed over as recharge claimed him.

"Slagging computer and processor," Ratchet swore as he unplugged from Prowl. "Some Pit spawn thought it was a good idea to install both an advanced logic processor and battle computer in that mech's processor and to run them through each other. That means that everything I do to make him comfortable, those systems will be fighting me because they aren't programmed to step off."

"His creators," Jazz said. "Smokescreen said something about that."

"Slaggers," Ratchet swore again. "I'd better not run out of programs or I won't be able to do anything to make him comfortable except put him in medical stasis."

"Poor mech," Jazz grimaced. He was beginning to understand the anger Smokescreen still had for his and Prowl's creators. "How long will he be out?"

"A few joors," Ratchet replied. "I need to hook him up to a machine that will upload the pain killers automatically. When I can get him to my clinic my berths will do that automatically but these portable berths aren't equipped with those advanced systems."

"I should report to Optimus," Jazz said and vented. "Haven't filed a report yet."

"He knows about Prowl," Ratchet informed Jazz. "And that you were to be on leave for the mega-cycle. Or have you forgotten that you donated 1/5 of your total energon volume to him?"

"I guess I should thank you 'cause otherwise I'd be really shirking my duties by not checking with the Boss Bot," Jazz said with a cheeky grin. "I'll be back in a few."

Ratchet followed Jazz out. Smokescreen and Bluestreak were waiting on the berth they had recharged on. Jazz gave both the mech and the youngling a reassuring smile before walking through the temporary triage. The space, though full, was mostly quiet, except for the quiet sobbing of too many Cybertronians. Jazz felt his spark contract. Damn Megatron to the Pit. It didn't take long for Jazz to find Optimus. Prime was not alone, he never was. Ironhide was standing with him as Optimus spoke with his second-in-command, a disillusioned old mech named Intrigue. Optimus turned from Intrigue. He had his battle mask in place, hiding his mouth.

"Sir," Jazz said, nodding his head in deference to his leader.

"How are you feeling, Jazz?" Optimus asked. Though his battle mask hid his mouth, it didn't hide his optics. Jazz could see the strain in them.

"Tired, sir," Jazz admitted. "But I'm still kicking."

"I haven't spoken with Smokescreen yet," Optimus said. "The youngling has him preoccupied."

"How does he seem to you?" Jazz asked, having not spoken with Smokescreen since he'd recharged.

"Like he wants to climb out of his plating," Optimus replied. "But the youngling is keeping him settled. Tell me, what do you know about that Enforcer?"

"Nothing, really," Jazz admitted. Intrigue's contemptuous snort raised Jazz's hackles but he let it slide. "But I do have an impression of him. He seems like a genuinely good mech. Smokescreen talked about him a bit and it doesn't sound like Prowl has any of the, uh Enforcer personality."

"Is the youngling his?" Optimus asked. Enforcers didn't generally have sparklings now. They functioned only for Megatron, not for families. The expression on Intrigue's faceplates was one of distrust.

"Sort of," Jazz replied. "Smokescreen said Prowl adopted Blue, Bluestreak from the streets."

"Probably to warm his berth," Intrigue grumbled with real venom. Jazz was unable to stop himself from glaring at his superior officer but he was able to stop himself from reaming Intrigue out.

"Let's not make assumptions about a mech we don't even know," Optimus chastised Intrigue with an even voice. "I'll speak to Prowl myself once Ratchet has him settled in his clinic in Iacon."

"Yes sir," Jazz replied. Intrigue made snap judgements of people, and held to them. It didn't matter what type of mech Prowl proved to be, Intrigue would never see him as anything other than scum. Optimus's bodyguard fell under the same sort of category. He had been a common foot soldier before Optimus had selected him personally to be his bodyguard. Intrigue would not forgive Ironhide's common ancestry. Ironhide kept his feelings of disdain for Intrigue to himself for the most part but Jazz and he had commiserated more than once. Jazz was as common as they came, without any social graces, Intrigue had hated him on sight when Optimus had named him head of Special Operations. Intrigue was focused on Optimus; Ironhide met Jazz's optics and rolled them.

"Anything I can do to help organize the survivors for transport to Iacon?" Jazz asked, pointedly ignoring Intrigue now.

"Ratchet has you off duty," Optimus replied. "And I am not inclined to step on his peds. If you could do me a small favour and keep an optic on Prowl, it would be appreciated."

"Of course, sir," Jazz replied and bowed his head to Optimus, taking this as a dismissal. Optimus was very astute at reading people. He knew where Jazz wanted to be, and was being kind enough to let Jazz be there.

To spare Prowl the pain that would no doubt occur in Transport, Ratchet placed him in medical stasis for the drive back to Iacon. Smokescreen and Jazz both drove close behind the medic for the entire journey. Bluestreak rode within Smokescreen, he was still too young to make such a journey under his own steam. He wasn't yet halfway through his younglinghood. The idea that younglings as young as Bluestreak had been targeted by the Decepticons turned the energon in Jazz's fuel processor bitter. Of course Prime's Autobots had heard rumours of these goings on and had seen evidence of it in Vos and Kaon but Jazz had never seen a youngling that had avoided it or a mech who had tried to intervene. To think that this mech was an Enforcer still blew Jazz's processor.

Ratchet's clinic was just outside of the centre of Iacon. Prime's palace, and the central head quarters of the Autobots sat in the city centre. Jazz's apartment was well away, on the fringes of the city. He didn't go to his own housing but insisted on staying at Ratchet's clinic with Smokescreen and Bluestreak. There was no reason for him to remain there; he reasoned that he was all the closer to Optimus and it saved him the long drive to the base. The truth was that he was not done hovering around Prowl; Jazz just didn't know enough about him yet, didn't know him well enough yet.

Smokescreen and Bluestreak had been with Prowl when he'd woken from stasis in Iacon. They had stayed with him as long as Ratchet would let them. The medic had chased them out two joors earlier, proclaiming that his patient needed to recharge. Both Smokescreen and his adopted nephew had gone immediately into the next treatment room and gone into recharge on the berth inside. Jazz stayed in the waiting room. He didn't feel right intruding on the family. But when Ratchet went into his office, announcing that he was going to get some recharge...

"If you aren't going to go home, lay down on one of the exam berths and recharge," Ratchet instructed.

"I will," Jazz promised. He waited until Ratchet entered his office before he snuck across the the waiting room and slipped into the Prowl's room. Prowl laid incredibly still on the berth a single cable ran from the side of the berth and connected to the port on the lower left edge of Prowl's chassis. A warming blanket covered him. With the continuing repairs his self-repair systems had to go through, it would be too much of a strain for Prowl's systems to keep him at an optimum temperature. Jazz approached slowly.

He still looked rough. The welds were still too fresh to be buffed smooth. Still, Prowl looked far better than he had when Jazz had first seen him. No part of Prowl was that dull, unhealthy shade of grey. Jazz studied the prone mech. It deeply unsettled Jazz that he was so drawn to this handsome stranger. Enforcers had been the enemies of his younglinghood. Though they had not been reprogramming younglings then, they had terrorized Jazz and his friends, detained them for any crime, even when they had not been involved. When Jazz had found employment at an oil bar, a vorn before he would upgrade to his adult frame, the Enforcers of his neighbourhood had done everything in their power to have him fired. Thankfully, the owner of the bar had had his own run ins with Enforcers and had kept Jazz on, even paying for his schooling. Jazz hadn't made it into the Academy, nor could his boss have afforded to send him there but the university of Polyhex was a perfectly good school and Jazz had excelled.

Jazz had never done anything with his education. Music had been the passion of his young life and he had joined a band during his time in university. More jobs were available singing than Jazz could find with his degree so he had put the certification away and made his life performing in bars and clubs. It hadn't been that there were no jobs in teaching literature or sports, rather Jazz's low class upbringing had stopped any schools from hiring him on. His accent hadn't deterred the clubs or bars and Jazz had been a rising star on the entertainment circuit. Megatron's lackeys had begun to terrorize the bars and clubs, trying to force recruits as Megatron first revolted. Jazz had been enraged and when his old boss's bar had been destroyed, because the mech wouldn't tolerate his customers being harassed and threatened, and the kindly mech murdered, Jazz had enlisted with the Autobots. His rough start had taught him how to sneak and fight, and his university education had honed his athleticism. The Autobots had taught him to shoot and how to work with explosives and Jazz had become a saboteur almost overnight. He excelled at it. Much like he had singing, something Jazz had given up after the death of his mentor.

"You're Jazz," Prowl's comment broke Jazz from his reverie.

"Yeah, I am," Jazz replied. His spark fluttered. The sensation caught him off guard. Prowl's voice was absolutely musical.

"Thank you for finding me," Prowl said. "When I felt my spark trying to rejoin the Allspark, it was comforting to not be alone."

"No one should deactivate alone," Jazz replied.

"Not even an Enforcer?" Prowl asked. His faceplates were so smooth, expressionless. This must have been what Smokescreen meant by Prowl not wearing his spark on his faceplates. But Prowl had a spark, Jazz had felt it, and he had seen Prowl without this mask of neutrality.

"No," Jazz replied sincerely. "Have to say you're unlike any Enforcer I've ever met."

"There were others with morals like me," Prowl commented. "But when they were discovered, they were all reprogrammed."

"But you fooled them," Jazz noted. "Glad you did or Bluestreak wouldn't be here."

"I should have sent the other younglings on my patrol to another city," Prowl said. He shuttered his optics and kept his mouth straight. His whole frame was stiff. Jazz wondered if Prowl held his doorwings that straight as well. Prowl spoke again. "But none of the scenarios my battle computer plotted out contained such at actions from the Decepticons."

"Hey, no one could have predicted that," Jazz reassured Prowl. "We, the Autobots I mean, have more intel on the 'Cons than you could have and the first clue we had that the 'Cons were up to something was when they started massing outside the city."

"I am unaccustomed to being taken by surprise," Prowl confessed. "You lied out in the street. You thought my family was deactivated in the rubble but you didn't want me to suffer with that as I deactivated."

"You're right," Jazz admitted. "Don't regret it, though."

"I suppose not," Prowl replied.

"Did you know Smokescreen was a 'Bot?" Jazz asked, changing the conversation to a subject he hoped was less painful to Prowl.

"No," Prowl replied. "Not until he confessed back in that camp."

"Ouch," Jazz winced. "Big secret there."

"Our family goes orns, sometimes meta-cycles without speaking," Prowl explained. "And Smokescreen tends to keep secret anything he does that he believes will worry me."

"Are you mad?" Jazz asked.

"No," Prowl replied. "I'm proud of him. He closed his practice so he could help the cause."

"He's proud of you too," Jazz said. "He wasn't angry when I talked to him. He was praising you for sticking on with the Enforcers to protect people from the others."

"We fought about it," Prowl replied, frowning just slightly. "In the past. He accused me of being stubborn."

"I bet you are," Jazz teased gently. "But he's proud of you."

"Thank you," Prowl said. "Blue likes you. But then he likes most mechs."

"I'm touched," Jazz chuckled. "I've kept you up long enough, Prowler. I can see you want to recharge."

"Need more than want," Prowl corrected. "And my designation is Prowl."

"I know," Jazz replied, smiling broadly. "But I've nicknamed you Prowler."

Prowl stared up at the ceiling above his berth as Jazz left him alone. The only sound was the faint purr of the berth as it recorded his vital signs. His processor was regaining some clarity and he felt a faint twinge of pain from the surface of his doorwings. A change of pitch of the hum told Prowl that the berth would be uploading to painkilling programs into his systems momentarily. Prowl's firewalls questioned whether the programs were safe or not and Prowl approved them. It would be a few kliks before the new programs would replace the old and Prowl experienced a moment of clarity. The programs didn't just numb his body, they addled his processor.

Why had he been so open with a total stranger. The medical programs loosened his glossa and seemed to erase his self restraint. Prowl was never that free with his thoughts as he had been with Jazz. Smokescreeen didn't manage to drag such confessions from him. It was unsettling what an affect Jazz had on him. He hadn't said anything incriminating, though there wasn't anything really incriminating about him, not to the Autobots anyway. Still, Prowl had made himself vulnerable to Jazz and the thought was discomforting.

There was nothing to be done about it now. Prowl felt the fog return and his processor warned him that recharge was imminent. He shuttered his optics and vented softly. Jazz was a strange mech. Even addled his battle computer warned him that the probability of Jazz visiting him again was no less than 90-10 in favour of another visit. It was not in Prowl, even unsettled as he was, to be sorry for the prospect.

End Chapter 2

A/N I cannot begin to describe how surprised and pleased I was by the reaction to this fic. I am absolutely blown away, and I hope I don't disappoint.

The next update will be in another week.

I'm offering a fic for art exchange, if anyone is interested. You draw art (not necessarily connected to any fic or anything, but art for Transformers and for one of the following couples, Jazz/Prowl, Optimus/Ironhide, Blaster/Soundwave, Mirage/Cliffjumper, Twins/Ratchet, Skywarp/Thundercracker/Hound, Red Alert/ Inferno, Trailbreaker/Wheeljack, and I write you one shot for the couple of your choosing. There are some couples I am really not into but I would attempt to write anything you'd like for this exchange.

If interested, drop me a line.


	3. Chapter 3

Many Shades of Black

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; I'm just prostituting it for my amusement.

Summary: Jazz finds an Enforcer in the ruins of Praxus. Even though Enforcers are the lackeys of Megatron he stays with the mech so that he won't deactivate alone. Except the mech doesn't die.

Warning: M/M robot smut, war

Pairings: Jazz/ Prowl

**Klik: One Minute, **1.2 minutes

**Joor: One Hour, **not giving it a specific length, suffice it to say that Cybertron does not share the same orbit or rotation as Earth, an hour, a day would be different lengths from ours

**Mega-cycle: One Day,** 93 hours/ joors

**Orn: One Week**, 13 mega-cycles

**Quartex: One Month,** 4 orns

**Stellar Cycle: One Year,** 7.5 quartexes

**Vorn: Length of Sparklinghood and Younglinghood: **83 stellar cycles.

"How is the patient?" Optimus asked as Ratchet led him into his office. Ratchet was not officially an Autobot but he was good friends with Prime.

"Stable," Ratchet replied. "Recharging most of the time, it's a reaction to the medical programs. I've never treated a mech with such advanced systems. They physically clash with his personality sub-routines. He can't act on a whim. This comes more from Smokescreen than Prowl, but he runs scenarios through his battle computer, which is tied to his obscenely advanced logic processor, and then acts on the results his battle computer spits out. He thinks, over thinks about everything, and he isn't capable of doing otherwise. His repairs are holding and integrating well and his sensors are settling. I've started weening him off some of the medical programs. He doesn't complain, but I don't believe he enjoys the way they affect his processor. He's not ready to be off the programs all together but it's a start."

"Jazz is in your waiting room," Optimus observed. He filed a note in his processor. Prowl was a ready made tactician. That could be very useful if he decided to enlist with the Autobots.

"He's been camping out here since we got back," Ratchet explained. "He only leaves to meet with you or go out on missions."

"Jazz can be obsessive," Optimus commented.

"Yeah," Ratchet agreed. "But Prowl hasn't complained about him so I'm not interfering. Jazz saw some terrible things in Praxus. It's not unexpected that he would latch on to a survivor."

"Can I speak with him?'' Optimus asked.

"Sure," Ratchet replied. "I know I can trust you not to stress him out. I'm keeping my favourite wrench handy at all times."

"Of course," Optimus replied. Ratchet stepped away from his desk and led Optimus to Prowl's room. He stepped into the doorway, blocking Optimus for the moment.

"You have a guest," Ratchet announced to his patient.

"That's fine," Prowl replied. His voice was even to Optimus's audios. A rich voice but one without obvious personality. Every Enforcer Optimus had encountered had monotone, emotionless voices. Prowl's did not seem all that different.

"Thank you," Optimus said as he entered the room. Ratchet closed the door behind him. The angle of the berth supported Prowl in a sitting position. Mechanical arms held the Praxian's doorwings. The wings looked jagged and stiff. But Ratchet had warned him earlier that the joints of Prowl's doorwings were still not strong enough to allow Prowl to sit without them being supported.

"I am Optimus Prime."

"I know who you are," Prowl replied, his tone, and his expression unchanged. "I would show you appropriate deference but Ratchet has me restrained."

"Please, don't concern yourself with that. I don't put much stock in ceremony," Optimus asked. "How are you feeling."

"Stronger than I have been," Prowl replied. "What can I do for you, Prime?"

"I've been told you have the makings of a tactician," Optimus explained. "Please, feel free to say no. You are under no obligation to agree to what I am asking. Would you be willing to work with one of my officers in building strategies to counter the Decepticons."

Optimus had to admit he was surprised at how quickly Prowl answered. Ratchet had just said that Prowl never acted on a whim.

"Yes, of course," was Prowl's immediate response. Optimus chuckled low.

"I must admit I'm surprised at how quickly you answered," Optimus replied. "Both Smokescreen and Ratchet told me that you always run your options through your battle computer to come to the best course of action."

"Sometimes there is only one viable option," Prowl replied, inclining his head slightly.

"Of course, you're right," Optimus said. "When do you believe you will be willing to start working?"

"As soon as Ratchet allows it," Prowl replied. "I can strategize without leaving this berth."

"Thank you, Prowl," Optimus said. He wanted to express his condolences for what had happened to Praxus. But words failed him. Prowl was difficult to read and Optimus did not want to say anything that would upset him. "I'll leave you in peace. Would it be acceptable to bring the officer around tomorrow."

"Certainly," Prowl replied. Considering who he was speaking to and the fact that he was about to start working specifically for Prime he bowed his head slightly and added: "sir."

"Excellent," Optimus said, Prowl's faceplates never changed expression, not even his optics changed. The anger Optimus assumed compelled him to help the Autobots was not evident on any part of his frame. He would have to be careful to pick the right officer to work with Prowl. Too many mechs or femmes would take Prowl's mannerisms and lack thereof as a lack of a spark. Those 'Bots would never take what he strategized seriously. Well, it was a good thing that Optimus had a few officers to choose from.

"I'll leave you be before Ratchet chases me out," Optimus stated after a moment. "I'll see you tomorrow. It's good to finally meet you, Prowl."

"Thank you, sir," Prowl replied. Optimus did not wear a mask of indifference that Prowl did. He was easily read. It was some what comforting to know that the Prime was genuinely sincere. Enforcer training had taught Prowl how to detect falsehoods. Certainly, Optimus was cautious as he spoke to him but was truthful. That was enough to make him trustworthy, at least for now. His logic computer pondered what it would have meant for Cybertron's future if this Prime had been selected to replace Sentinel Prime vorns earlier.

"Recharge well," Optimus said and he left Prowl alone. The mech was an enigma. Optimus needed to read his people and know that he could trust them. It would take time to learn how to read Prowl, possibly time he didn't have. But the Decepticons had the Autobots at a huge disadvantage, especially now with the loss of Praxus and the neutral mechs and femmes that had inhabited it. Praxus had not taken a side in the civil war. But there had been a chance, a real chance that when the time came for them to choose, they would have chosen the Autobots. Optimus assumed this was the motivation behind its destruction but he could not be certain. Once upon a time he had been able to read and predict Megatron's every move, now. Now, Megatron was a stranger.

"Ratchet," Optimus called to his old friend as he knocked on the medic's office door.

Jazz peered out from the treatment room where he had set up camp for the extent of Prowl's treatment. Ratchet had chased Smokescreen and Bluestreak out of his clinic only two mega-cycles before. It was for Bluestreak's good, according to Ratchet. The youngling needed a return to stability and he had a better chance of that staying in Smokescreen's apartment with his adoptive uncle rather than staying in the clinic until Prowl recovered enough to leave. Nothing about Jazz's lifestyle was stable and he wasn't hurting anyone by hanging around the clinic. To keep himself from being exiled, he made himself useful to Ratchet, running any errands he wanted done. And he had stayed true to his duties as an Autobot officer by attending meetings and sending his mechs and femmes off on espionage runs as they tried to gather information on the 'Cons. Unfortunately, Jazz had attempted to eavesdrop at Ratchet's door before and found the old medic had soundproofed his office. Slag, he wanted to know what Optimus and Ratchet were talking about. It had to be about Prowl and Jazz wanted to know.

Ratchet let Optimus into his office and handed him a cube before sitting down in the chair behind his desk. Optimus sat, without needing to be invited to, in the chair across from Ratchet. He drank the cube. Of course Ratchet had noticed he was tired. Ironhide had been tied up with training the new recruits for the better part of the day. In fact, Optimus had failed to mention to Ironhide that he was leaving the Palace of the Primes to visit Ratchet and his patient. Stubborn and devoted to his Prime, Ironhide would have cancelled the training to guard Optimus as he travelled through Iacon. There was no single responsibility Ironhide clung to more than that of Optimus's bodyguard. But the new recruits needed to be diligently trained if they were going to stand any hope of surviving the war.

"Prowl's agreed to work with one of my officers as a strategist," Optimus announced. "I'd like to bring whichever officer I choose to meet with him tomorrow."

"Fine," Ratchet replied. "My clinic slows down at around the fiftieth joor. Bring them over then and plan the meetings for the evening."

"Of course," Optimus agreed.

"Any idea who you're going to have work with him?" Ratchet asked. "

"I'd like to pair him up with Intrigue but that would be a hopeless endeavour," Optimus said. "Possibly Jazz. He, at least, seems to get along with Prowl. And the Special Ops could use another strategist."

"But you'd like him strategizing for the army, not just for the spies," Ratchet finished Optimus's thought. "I get it. But if none of your commanders can get past his being an Enforcer and his demeanour, he'll have a better chance of doing you some good with the Special Ops."

"Precisely," Optimus replied. "I'd set him up with Elita 1 but she and her troops gather the information that I hope he can build strategies from. It wouldn't be the ideal place for him. I believe he would work with Jazz. But I am hoping I can convince Shockwave to work with him."

"Your TIC is almost as hard helmed as you SIC," Ratchet grumbled. "Press upon him that this mech is brilliant. His brother is an Autobot. We've all heard the rumours that the Enforcers were reprogrammed. Given how Prowl carries himself, in all likelihood they just missed reprogramming him because he already acts so aloof."

"Can you run a scan of his programs and check for evidence of reprogramming?" Optimus asked.

"I already have," Ratchet said with a snort. "And his processor is clean. Other than conflicts with his logic processor and battle computer, everything is perfectly unblemished. Alright, that's not entirely true but there is no evidence of reprogramming."

"Anything I need to worry about," Optimus asked.

"I'd rather let Prowl tell you himself if he feels the need," Ratchet replied. "But you have it on my lofty medical authority that Prowl was not reprogrammed. Besides, don't you think Smokescreen would have noticed? The mech has his own quirks but he's well trained and he would notice if his brother had been reprogrammed."

"You're right there," Optimus replied. He was about to say more when his comm crackled, warning him of an incoming call.

"Optimus?" Ironhide's gruff voice came over the calm. It was not a snarl, or a shout. Ironhide respected protocol just enough to never yell at Optimus. Unless, that is he had done something incredibly stupid. His accent was especially evident now. "Where are you?"

"Ratchet's," Optimus replied. Ratchet smirked. Ironhide was worse than a nagging femme when it came to Optimus.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ironhide asked. His voice was just a little less gruff. Ratchet's office was not so far from the Palace. He was safe enough. "I would've cancelled the rest of the session."

"Those mechs need to be trained," Optimus replied. "And there is no mech better to train them than you."

"Stay there, and I'll come and escort you back to the Palace," Ironhide grumbled. He had been a Weapons Officer in Prime's own army. It had been one of his responsibility to train the recruits of his battalion. That had been exactly what he had been doing when Prime had picked him from the ranks to be his personal bodyguard. Ironhide knew that Optimus had done this in large part to make a point to Intrigue and his council that senior officers were the only mechs of use in the army and that soldiers were more than canon fodder. Generally, Ironhide didn't complain. It was an honour to protect his Prime and he took the honour to spark.

"I'll be happy to drive back with you," Optimus replied. He chuckled at Ratchet's smirk once he disconnected the call. "Jazz will be coming back with us. I'm calling an officers meeting."

"You picked the perfect mech to be your bodyguard," Ratchet noted. "He isn't cowed by your rank."

"I have to admit I picked him expecting to be able to order him to give me a wide berth," Optimus said. "A common soldier, I expected him to be in awe at my rank and inclined to obey. Ironhide proved me wrong almost immediately. He does his best to attend to my every need."

"He's a good mech," Ratchet agreed.

Ironhide arrived within the joor and the three mechs drove back to the Palace with Ironhide almost glued to Optimus's side. Jazz kept his chuckle to himself. That's what Prime got for trying to out manoeuvre Ironhide. The senior officers, all aside from Jazz, were waiting in the War room when Optimus and Jazz arrived. Prime stood in the place of honour at the table, his SIC and his TIC standing to his left and right. Jazz stood next to Shockwave. He hated the mech. There was something about him that screamed deceit and Jazz stood next to him in no small part as a way to keep this enemy close. Elita 1 stood next to the Intrigue, She smiled as Jazz took his place at the table. Not even meetings were safe, at least not to Ironhide, and he stood in front of the door, keeping an optic on the whole room.

"I've recruited a new strategist from the survivors of Praxus," Optimus announced, starting the meeting off quickly.

"Indeed?" Intrigue replied. "Our final reports have concluded there were only three-hundred and sixty eight survivors. It's remarkable that a mech or femme of such skill survived."

"Jazz found him," Optimus explained. The mood of the room fell immediately. Every officer had heard of the Enforcer's survival. Intrigue visibly bristled. Elita 1 raised optic ridges at Jazz, who smiled serenely back. "His designation is Prowl and he is equipped with the most advanced battle computer and logic processor Ratchet has ever seen. He has the tools to be a powerful weapon against the Decepticons."

"The Enforcers are Megatron's, Lord Prime," Intrigue said, he kept his tone subservient. "Those that may not have been corrupted to begin with were reprogrammed."

"Ratchet assures me that Prowl has not been reprogrammed," Optimus replied. "Ratchet is one of, if not the best medic in all of Cybertron. I trust his diagnosis."

"My Lord Prime, he may not have needed to be reprogrammed," Intrigue suggested.

"Smokescreen's an Autobot," Jazz said, passion in his voice but carefully controlled. "No one has questioned his loyalties. He's Prowl's older brother. Wouldn't he know if Prowl was that sort of mech? He's a psychiatrist for Primus's sake."

"Officer Jazz," Intrigue said no more but his promised a further reprimand later.

"Jazz is correct, Intrigue," Optimus halted any reprimand or further argument. "Smokescreen has fought in battles and acted as a field medic when our need was so great we were putting medics into the fray. He vouches for his brother and having personally met with Prowl, I vouch for him as well."

There was nothing Intrigue could say to that. Optimus had made up his mind. An Enforcer was an Enforcer. Mechs and femmes did not change their programming, and they should not rise above their station. He offered Jazz a thinly veiled glare, and he would have dealt Ironhide one as well but the common soldier playing at being a bodyguard was out of his line of sight. You did not rise above your station. This was the reason Intrigue had not joined Megatron. The High Lord Protector was trying to rise above his station and that was not acceptable.

"I would be open to working with the tactician," Shockwave offered. It was Jazz's turn to bristle. "This war has gone on so long, a fresh pair of optics would do some good."

"My mechs are dying," Jazz said, thinking quickly. "We get a lot of data from Elita 1 and her agents but it's hard to weed out the false information from the real intelligence. Even with all that, we're going into 'Con held cities and getting slagged trying to get more intel and hostages out. I think Prowl could really help me improve the strategies I'm going up with so I, we, lose fewer mechs."

That is a good point, Jazz," Optimus replied. "Until the Decepticons move again, battle plans are more hypothetical than anything else. Still, Prowl's tactical abilities could prove to be of significant benefit to the army. Shockwave, I want you work with Prowl to build new troop deployment tactics. Jazz, I want you to work with Prowlto build your mission plans."

"Yes, sir," Jazz said. He would have felt better if Shockwave went nowhere near Prowl, but until he had evidence to back up his hunch, he would say nothing to Prime. A small smile passed over Jazz's faceplates. Unless he was on a mission, he was staying at the clinic. If Shockwave tried anything he would stop it.

"As you will, My Lord," Shockwave replied.

"Ratchet has ordered that no session go more than an hour without a break," Optimus said. "I can't have you, Shockwave, away from the Palace for hours at a time. Your sessions, as they are still only covering theoretical battles, will only go for an hour. Jazz, I trust Ratchet to limit your sessions as he sees fit."

"Yes sir," Jazz replied. That was perfect. One hour limited Shockwave's time with Prowl. Jazz didn't know what he thought the TIC would try with Prowl but was ready to assume the worst.

"As you will, My Lord," Shockwave intoned. Jazz couldn't even read his slagging faceplates. The cyclops had a featureless face. His voice had a perfect, classical lilt. He was from an old family in Tarns, and had been the military commander there before the city's destruction. Naturally, he had attended the War Academy there and he knew exactly what to say and how to say it. Shockwave was fake, never making a mistake or speaking in any manner less than perfect to Prime. Jazz saw him as fake, though he suspected he was the only one who did.

End Chapter 3.

A/N An early update. Haven't written much of the fifth chapter, but the forth one is finished so there will still be an update in one week. I crazy reviews. They are like sugar to me.

I'm sure I've said that before. Working on Ring Around the Rosie and then I'll hopefully get back to work on this fic and Crack in the Pavement. Happy Canada Day and Fourth of July my American and Canadian readers. Happy Summer and Winter to my Northern and Southern hemisphere readers.


	4. Chapter 4

Many Shades of Black

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; I'm just prostituting it for my amusement.

Summary: Jazz finds an Enforcer in the ruins of Praxus. Even though Enforcers are the lackeys of Megatron he stays with the mech so that he won't deactivate alone. Except the mech doesn't die.

Warning: M/M robot smut, war

Pairings: Jazz/ Prowl

**Klik: One Minute, **1.2 minutes

**Joor: One Hour, **not giving it a specific length, suffice it to say that Cybertron does not share the same orbit or rotation as Earth, an hour, a day would be different lengths from ours

**Mega-cycle: One Day,** 93 hours/ joors

**Orn: One Week**, 13 mega-cycles

**Quartex: One Month,** 4 orns

**Stellar Cycle: One Year,** 7.5 quartexes

**Vorn: Length of Sparklinghood and Younglinghood: **83 stellar cycles.

"Chromia outdid herself," Elita 1 said to Jazz as they sat in his office. "Not only did she download the schematics of the Decepticon stronghold in Kaon but also several underground prisons in Tyger Pax, Kalis and Axiom Nexus."

"Any info on what the prisons are being used for?" Jazz asked as he took the datadisks from Elita 1.

"No," Elita 1 replied. "Chromia's gone back in to find out just who is being held in the prisons. It's possible that the missing senators may be being held in one of those prisons. Those disks contain the schematics of each of those cities."

"Axiom Nexus was supposed to be off limits to both Prime and Megatron," Jazz commented. "The city-state is passionately neutral."

"'Cons have gotten in," Elita 1 said. "I'll be heading there next to see just how deeply intrenched the 'Cons have gotten."

"This is going to be a baptism by fire for Prowl," Jazz commented. "He's meeting with Shockwave now. I'll take these disks with me and see what Prowl and me can come up with."

"If he manages not to get me killed, I'd like to meet him," Elita 1 commented as she stood to leave. "I've never met a mech that managed to out manoeuvre the Enforcers' reprogramming sweep."

"If I haven't gotten you killed yet, Prowl sure won't," Jazz replied.

"I've never known you to have so much faith in a mech you barely know," Elita 1 stated, observing Jazz a little more closely.

"I trust my instincts," Jazz replied. "We'll come up with something within a session or two. Don't go rushing out without a plan first."

"I'm not Chromia," Elita 1 said in a smooth, cool tone.

"Just teasing," Jazz replied, quickly raising his servos in a sign of contrition. He knew better than to tease Elita 1, but some days he just couldn't resist.

"Get on to your meeting," Elita 1 ordered, though technically she held no higher a rank than Jazz. "Shockwave should be done with him soon."

"Yeah," Jazz grimaced. It was Elita 1's turn to laugh.

"Still don't like our TIC?" Elita 1 asked.

"He's too smooth," Jazz replied. "I'm out. Gotta make sure that mech didn't corrupt Prowl while I was away."

Elita 1 watched Jazz leave. She smiled a little. Admittedly, she was not entirely comfortable with Shockwave, she did not outright loathe him the way Jazz did. Shockwave had the noble bearings of a Towers' mech. True, his lineage in Tarn's was notable, but no one was so noble as a Towers'. On her missions gathering intelligence on the Decepticons and the city-states that had so far remained neutral, Elita 1 had encountered Noble mechs from nearly every city-state and none of them carried themselves the way the Towers mechs did, none of them save for Shockwave. It was the posturing of absolute entitlement. The posturing didn't quite fit Shockwave. He was perfectly subordinate to both Optimus and Intrigue, and endless well mannered towards the soldiers and other officers, if perhaps a bit aloof to the soldiers. The fact of the matter was that Elita 1 had no reason to be unnerved by Shockwave, except that she was and that was enough to make her cautious.

Jazz didn't need a reason to dislike Shockwave. As he had said to Elita 1, he trusted his instincts. He hated knowing that Shockwave had been alone with Prowl. It had been his intention when Optimus had announced that both he and Shockwave would be working with Prowl that he would always be in the next room over just in case. Just in case what? Jazz didn't let himself think about the just in case. His imagination could be disturbing and more than a little far fetched. Ratchet was there, of course he was, he lived in that clinic. If Ratchet thought Prowl wasn't okay, he would chase Shockwave from his clinic. If Shockwave didn't want to go, Ratchet would just not him out and throw him to the curb outside of his clinic. Ratchet was standing in the waiting room of his clinic, speaking with his nurse. The room was full of mechs and femmes in varying states of disrepair. Jazz slipped in from a side door hidden by Ratchet's office.

The first treatment room to Ratchet's office was Prowl's. Before reopening his clinic after shutting it to rush to Praxus, Ratchet had set up privacy screens that allowed visitors, namely Jazz, Shockwave, Optimus, Smokescreen and Bluestreak, to come see Prowl without dealing with the line up. It was important that these visitors not be identified by anyone in the waiting room. The chance of the Decepticons getting wind of the clinic as a target was too great. He knew from experience that there would be a line up of mechs and femmes looking for treatment. Jazz cleared his intakes to get Ratchet's attention. The scowl on his faceplates froze Jazz in his tracks. What the slag had that Pit-damned fragger done to Prowl? Ratchet made his way around the privacy screen to speak to Jazz.

"He's not here anymore so you can't slag him," Ratchet grumbled.

"What did he do to Prowl?" Jazz asked through clenched denta. He seethed.

"He upset him," Ratchet replied. He tossed a wrench from servo to servo. "Now I don't know what he did. Prowl hasn't admitted to him doing anything. The only reason I know he did anything was because Prowl's readouts changed. His spark rate picked up significantly as did his temperature. When I came into check on them, there was no obvious sign of cause. But I ended the session and tried to talk to Prowl but he insists they were simply having a tactical discussion."

"Didn't threaten him with a wrench?" Jazz asked, trying the joke even as he still seethed.

"He knew it was a threat," Ratchet said scornfully. "His repairs are still too fragile for me to start beating on him. And I don't have time to drag it out of him. I've got a lot of patients to see."

"Ooh, burn," Jazz replied. "Can I talk to him? I promise we won't work."

"Fine," Ratchet vented. "Take whatever time you need. But don't upset him anymore!"

"Thanks, Doc," Jazz replied, and he walked across the waiting room and opened the door to Prowl's room. Prowl was not Ratchet's only patient but he was the only one that had to remain at the clinic. Once upon a time, Ratchet had been the Chief Medical Officer at Iacon's finest hospital but he had quit after serving in that role for vorns. Jazz had never been told why Ratchet had retired from his prestigious position. All he knew was that immediately after Ratchet had quit the hospital, he had opened his clinic. Ratchet never spoke about why he quit the hospital but his clinic served the poorest citizens of Iacon, and Jazz had done the math. The poorest citizens could never have afforded care and the Iacon Medical Centre. There was the Primus is Lord Medical Centre, a free hospital but the wait times there were horrendous and the medical care was simply not up to the standard of the IMC. For anything less than the most severe damages, the poor could see Ratchet. And they did. Mechs, and femmes came in droves and they brought their sparklings with them. From the seventh joor to the seventy seventh, Ratchet saw patients. Having Prowl on as a live in patient was taxing to Ratchet but he was territorial over his patients and he had started Prowl's treatment and he was going to finish it. The clinic had only been reopened for the last few mega-cycles since Ratchet had returned with Prowl from Praxus. Ratchet had been focused on treating Prowl and other survivors of the attack. But he hadn't been willing to leave the clinic closed for any longer. So once again he was seeing patients and only stopping for recharge. There was no room for Jazz to hang around anymore and he had been forced to move back into his own apartment.

Since Jazz had last visited, Ratchet had removed the supports from Prowl's doorwings. The new struts and cables must have stabilized. Jazz watched from the doorway. Prowl was sitting on his berth, he was still not able to leave it, hunched over. His doorwings were drooped so low and he seemed fixated on the datadisk in his servos. He was so absorbed in the disk, that he didn't notice Jazz watching. Silently, Jazz approached.

"Prowl?" Jazz asked with concern in his voice. Prowl stiffened, realizing he was being observed. His doorwings perked up, quivering slightly as Prowl straightened. "Don't do that Prowl. Don't put on a front with me."

"They did everything in their power to deactivate every single Praxian," Prowl said. His voice was almost perfectly even, but Jazz could hear the strain. Prowl's doorwings began to droop again, while Prowl tried to sit completely straight. "The only survivors were from the government buildings. They were built stronger. All the apartments and compounds... All the schools and community centres, even the hospitals. They weren't just destroyed they were shattered and every single mech and femme and sparkling within them deactivated. No one survived in the streets except for me."

"Don't do this Prowl," Jazz ordered as he threw his arms around Prowl's lower back and pulled the mech to him. "You nearly deactivated. You didn't fail Praxus. There was nothing you could do to save them. The 'Cons deactivated them, not you, never you."

"Not even four hundred mechs and femmes survived," Prowl said as he sagged into Jazz. "Not a single sparkling or youngling. I should have sent them away. Anywhere! I told them how to hide from the Enforcers. I thought I was protecting them but they just died in the streets anyways!"

"Oh Prowler," Jazz soothed. He kept one arm wrapped around Prowl's waist, while he used his free servo to pull Prowl's helm against his shoulder. Prowl shook in his arms. "You couldn't have known. No one knew what they were planning. Slag, Prowl. If you're going to blame anyone, blame me. It's my department to uncover these schemes and stop them. But I didn't have a clue."

"It's not your fault," Prowl whispered. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Jazz and clung to him as turmoil wreaked havoc on his processor and his spark.

"It isn't yours either," Jazz replied, leaning his helm against Prowl's. "Why did you try to hold this in. Emotion isn't a threat to you."

"It is if you're an Enforcer," Prowl said, grimly. "Show the wrong emotion and you're reprogrammed."

"No one's going to reprogram you if you cry or scream here," Jazz promised. "You don't have to hold it in anymore."

"Force of habit," Prowl replied. "Too deeply entrenched to change."

"Just don't hold back from me, okay?" Jazz asked. Prowl didn't reply. He wasn't sure if he could make that promise, and it made him oddly nervous knowing that he wanted to.

Several kliks later, Ratchet peaked into the room. Seeing Jazz holding Prowl and speaking softly, he wisely stepped away from the door and went to see other patients. Whatever had happened, Jazz was exactly what Prowl needed now. Joors later, not long before Ratchet would close the clinic for the night, Jazz stepped from Prowl's room. Before he left the clinic, he sought out Ratchet. He held it together until Ratchet shut the door to his office.

"That slagger told him just how many Praxians deactivated," Jazz snarled. "As if it was just a piece of meaningless data. Like it was nothing. And he watched Prowl. Watched for his reaction, but Prowl kept his cool and just kept on with the session. He would have kept going if you hadn't stopped the session. Pit monster might as well have stabbed him in the spark."

"He probably told him to see his reaction," Ratchet suggested. "To test him. I hate to say it but Prowl probably failed the test."

"Because he didn't fall apart?" Jazz asked with heat. Ratchet frowned at him, but let the show of temper slide.

"Well, yes," Ratchet replied. "The normal reaction to that kind of information is to "fall apart." Most mechs or femmes would either be in denial or in shock or in tears. Prowl, as you know, kept up his mask of neutrality."

"That's because he didn't feel safe to do more," Jazz exclaimed. "He was an Enforcers for Primus's sake! It hasn't been safe for him to break down for at least a vorn."

"I realize that," Ratchet said, he rubbed a servo between his optics. "But that mask of his is going to alienate most mechs."

"Slag them," Jazz snapped.

"Jazz, if you didn't know him better already, you would have him labelled as a 'Con," Ratchet retorted. "And nothing he ever did later, nothing anyone ever said would change your processor."

"Slag it," Jazz hissed. He shuttered his optics and vented, hard. "He's not going to change. I don't think he can. You said so yourself; it's his logic processor and battle computer."

"I know," Ratchet vented. "I know Jazz but that isn't going to matter to almost anyone. Prowl is going to face an uphill battle within the Autobots."

"When has he not had an uphill battle?" Jazz asked, anger and weariness mixing in his voice. "Fragged by his creators as a sparkling and then fragged by the 'Cons and next he gets to be fragged by the 'Bots."

"He's a tough mech or he wouldn't be alive," Ratchet commented. "Look. You want to help him? Support him. Show that you trust him and slowly mechs will come around."

"Thanks Ratch, I'm heading back to head quarters," Jazz said, sucking air into his intakes. "I need to talk to Optimus."

"Give him a message for me," Ratchet ordered, handing Jazz a datadisk. "In layman's terms, Shockwave is not to come within one hundred metres of my clinic or my patient or I will end him."

"Happy to be of service," Jazz replied, grinning. Oh Optimus would not be happy with this. It gave him a little thrill that Ratchet was as angry about Shockwave's actions as he was. Shockwave had made himself an enemy for life in Ratchet. Some day, that was bound to cost him.

"Get going," Ratchet said. "Optimus will only just be getting back to headquarters from Helix. You may be able to get to him before Shockwave."

"On it!" Jazz exclaimed. He threw himself out of Ratchet's office and was out the side door of his clinic less than a klik later. Ratchet stayed in his office for a few more kliks before he made his way back out to see more patients. He would check on Prowl again when he closed the clinic for the night.

Jazz transformed the instant his peds hit the smooth surface of the street and he raced to headquarters. There were speed limits on Iacon streets, and Jazz obeyed them, mostly. He arrived at Autobot HQ within a few kliks, and transformed again and ran inside. Optimus's private office here was on the the twenty-sixth floor. Knowing it would be far faster, Jazz ran to the nearest elevator. The elevator didn't seem fast and Jazz fidgeted from ped to ped. His systems were heating up as a sense of urgency washed over him. The doors to the elevator weren't fully open before he came barrelling out of it. In less than a klik he was outside of Optimus's office. The door was open just a crack.

"It is not reasonable to rely only on the medic's assumption that the Enforcer's has not been reprogrammed strictly because he has found no physical evidence of it," Shockwave argued. "There is evidence in the form of his behaviour."

"I'm not convinced his behaviour is all that telling," Optimus replied.

"He did not flinch when I informed him of the death toll at Praxus," Shockwave stated. "He simply added the data to the intelligence I had already supplied. His tone did not change. Neither did his posture or his manner."

"You slagging bastard!" Jazz screamed as he stormed into Prime's office. Before either Optimus, Ironhide or Shockwave could react, Jazz had Shockwave pinned against the wall buy his shoulders. He slammed the TIC into the wall completely. "What kind of monster are you? Who does that? Who just says by the way 3,763,549 of you citizens deactivated? Who does that? Who does something that cruel, that sparkless? H'uh? I'll tell you who would do that. A 'Con would. You're no better than a fragging 'Con."

"Enough!" Optimus ordered in a tone that could have cut diamonds. He had been stunned speechless when Jazz had stormed in and attack Shockwave but he had recovered from the shock. Ironhide grabbed Jazz before Optimus could. Optimus came to stand between Jazz and Shockwave as Jazz struggled to break free from Ironhide.

"I said enough!" Optimus repeated in an even more forceful tone. Jazz glowered at him with unrestrained fury. He panted through his intakes, his framed shuddered in Ironhide's grasp.

"I have a message from Ratchet," Jazz hissed. He tore an arm free from Ironhide and snapped the datadisk from his subspace and he tossed it unceremoniously at Optimus. "I'll summarize it for you. That scum is scrap if he goes within one hundred metres of the clinic."

Optimus caught the disk with ease and immediately read it. Ratchet had not minced his words. He would "end" Shockwave if he ever returned to Ratchet's domain. The medic described Shockwave's actions as unconscionably cruel. Prowl had been distressed, and Optimus was to remember that he had been ordered to instruct his officers that Prowl was not to be upset. It was unacceptable for anyone to interrogate or "test" one of _his _patients. If anything like that happened again Optimus would suffer for it; he had Ratchet's word. This was no good. Shockwave had disobeyed a direct order and Jazz had attacked a superior officer. Neither mech would go unpunished.

"Jazz, for attacking a superior officer, I am sentencing you to two orns in the stockades," Optimus said, his voice was cool now, his anger contained but his frustration not. "Shockwave, for disobeying a directed order and for undue cruelty to an ally, I'm sentencing you to one orn in the stockades. Ironhide, please summon security to take the prisoners to their cells."

Both Jazz and Shockwave to their sentences without a word of complaint. Jazz took it with defiance in his optics, daring Optimus to demand he apologize. Optimus wouldn't, mostly because hollow apologizes were meaningless and it was gratifying to see Jazz would stand up to anyone to defend a friend. It said something for his loyalty. What this incident said for his command structure, was less gratifying. Once the security team arrived, Optimus was left alone with Ironhide. Only a klik passed before Ironhide spoke.

"Slagger," Ironhide swore. "That was sparkless. Ratchet confirmed it, didn't he? It's not just Jazz's word against Shockwave."

"Ratchet is furious," Optimus confirmed. "And not just with Shockwave. Ratchet has never been found of Shockwave, he considers him too much like Intrigue and you know how he feels about him. He didn't fight me on teaming Shockwave with Prowl, but he didn't approve. He expected me to keep my officer in line. I failed to do so."

"Shockwave's never disobeyed an order," Ironhide said. "You couldn't know he would pull that stunt."

"He took me by surprised when he volunteered to work with Prowl," Optimus replied. "I should have guess he had an alternative motive."

"You're not psychic, Optimus," Ironhide replied. "You couldn't know what was going on his his processor. That mech has no face, no expressions. He's slick and smooth. He knows how to talk."

"You aren't fond of him either," Optimus stated, raising his optic ridges. He and Ironhide and never discussed Shockwave in private. Optimus had never had the chance to learn this of his bodyguard.

"I don't know what he's really about," Ironhide said. "Don't know where he stands."

"Do you with Prowl?" Optimus asked. He wanted to know. Primus, he needed another opinion on Prowl. One he knew was not biased.

"I've never spoken with him," Ironhide replied. "But slag, the 'Cons dropped Praxus on top of him and Smokescreen's no fool and no 'Con. I know where that mech stands and if he says his brother is just tight-afted, then I believe him. Besides, that youngling is real taken with him and younglings are the best judges."

"Thank you, my friend," Optimus said and vented. "I need to visit Ratchet and Prowl and offer my apologies."

"Better grab some high grade as a peace offering," Ironhide suggested. Optimus chuckled and took a few cubes from a secret drawer in his desk. That was probably the best advice Ironhide had ever given him.

End Chapter 4

A/N: Finally, finally putting up my BotCon posters. Booty! Booty! Now would they just announce where it will be next BotCon will be so I can figure out if I will be able to go again.

Thank you for your continued interest in this story. Working on the next chapter. I have a few other priorities but I am confident I will have another update same time next week.


	5. Chapter 5

Many Shades of Black

Chapter 5

Oh look... I'm updating this. Who knew?

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; I'm just prostituting it for my amusement.

Summary: NOT TEETH VERSE Jazz finds an Enforcer in the ruins of Praxus. Even though Enforcers are the lackeys of Megatron he stays with the mech so that he won't deactivate alone. Except the mech doesn't die.

Warning: M/M robot smut, war

Pairings: Jazz/ Prowl

**Klik: One minute, **1.2 kliks

**Joor: One Hour, **not giving it a specific length, suffice it to say that Cybertron does not share the same orbit or rotation as Earth, an hour, a day would be different lengths from ours

**Mega-cycle: One Day,** 93 hours/ joors

**Orn: One Week**, 13 mega-cycles

**Quartex: One Month,** 4 orns

**Stellar Cycle: One Year,** 7.5 quartexes

**Vorn: Length of Sparklinghood and Younglinghood: **83 stellar cycles.

Optimus stood at the door to the treatment room that Prowl occupied, contemplating what he would say, and what he would do. If he were to be honest with himself, Optimus would admit that he was not totally at ease with Prowl. While Optimus trusted both Ratchet's declaration that Prowl was of sound processor, with no trace of reprogramming, and while he trusted Smokescreen's word that this was his brother, and this was simply his nature, speaking with Prowl was eerie. The experience was similar to speaking with a hyper intelligent drone. An exceptionally hyper intelligent drone.

"Prowl, may I speak with you," Optimus asked as the door slid open.

"Of course, Sir," Prowl replied. His voice had more tone to it than when Optimus had first spoken with him. A result of his meeting with Shockwave, perhaps?

"I owe you an apology, Prowl," Optimus said once he stood at the side of Prowl's berth. "I was leery of Shockwave's enthusiasm at the idea of working with you. I should have expected that he would want to 'test' you."

"I was going to learn of the magnitude of Praxus' loss at some point," Prowl replied, he held his doorwings unconsciously high. It was a tell, Optimus decided. Specifically, it was a sign of distress. Optimus took a mental note. He would need to access the archives and study the language of doorwings.

"You should not have learned of it in that way," Optimus insisted. "You should have learned of it from a friendly face. Either Smokescreen, or Jazz, or myself, but never from a hostile mech."

"Thank you, Sir," Prowl said, offlining and onlining his optics. "I appreciate your concern in this matter."

"As long as you are an Autobot, your well-being is my concern," Optimus replied. He vented slowly. "Jazz had an encounter of his own with Shockwave, as a result he is spending time in the stockades. Shockwave as well. Unless you are willing to try working with another officer..."

"Optimus Prime!" Elita 1's sharp voice echoed through the waiting room, and reached the audios of both mechs. Ratchet stirred in his office, but before he could reach the femme, she stormed into Prowl's treatment room. Without glancing at the Praxian, she released her wrath on the Prime. "What's this I hear you sentenced Jazz to the stockades? I NEED him. Do you think it is easy to keep my femmes alive? Well?!"

"Prowl, let me introduce you to Elita 1," Optimus said, turning from Prowl to Elita 1. "She's the officer in charge of my covert femme unit."

"Prowl..." Elita 1 almost hissed the Praxian's name. The femme stared openly at Prowl, and he watched her closely. They carefully analyzed each other. Femmes were the most eratic and unpredictable Cybertronian model type. Passion and conviction often overruled common sense and logic. They were also deadly when angered. It was Elita 1 who broke the silence.

"So you're the brilliant tactician," she said.

"I suppose I am," Prowl replied. His doorwings could not have been held higher on his back, or more stiffly.

"If Jazz can't work with you, then you'll work with me," Elita 1 declared. "No arguing with me Optimus. I lost another femme today. The 'Cons are picking off my spies like gnats."

"If that's acceptable to Prowl,"Optimus replied, and looked down at Prowl. "Is it?"

"I believe it is," Prowl replied. The femme unnerved them, their whole model type did, but he would go insane without some activity. He could not bare to just sit in this berth thinking of what the Decepticons had done to Praxus. Maybe he would be able to stop them from devastating another city.

"Excellent," Elita 1 said. "You can go Optimus, I want to see what Prowl here thinks of my report."

"When Ratchet orders you to leave," Optimus warned.

"I'll go," Elita 1 interrupted, waving Optimus off. "I know better than to argue with him."

She didn't know better than to argue with Optimus. But then, when had he ever rebuked her. Elita 1 had an irritating habit of ignoring the chain of command, and too often she escaped any censorship, because she was right. Ratchet was waiting with Ironhide with Optimus left the treatment room. Ratchet raised his optic ridge and then shrugged. He led two mechs into his office and handed out cubes of high grade. All were silent has they drained their cubes. Femmes had that affect on them.

"His levels are normal enough," Ratchet said when he finished his cube. "Though they peaked when she went on her tirade."

"Brave mech," Ironhide noted. "Workin' with her."

"No argument there," Ratchet replied. Optimus didn't bother to disagree either.

Elita 1 watched Prowl intently as he read through her report. No part of him moved, save for the digit that flicked the screen to scroll to the next page of data. His optics did not flicker. He was the image of pure concentration. It was a sight to behold. She felt a glimmer of admiration. He could have simply downloaded the report but certainly intricacies of the report could be missed that way. That battle computer of his must of been incredible. There was much at stake, in regards to her report. If Elita 1 was right, if the evidence eluded to what she believe it did, the Autobot cause was in incredible peril.

"You believe there is a spy amongst the Autobot officers," Prowl stated when he looked up from her report.

"And do you agree?" Elita 1 asked. She shifted in her seat. Optimus would never believe her instinct alone.

"I do," Prowl replied.

"You do," Elita 1 almost cheered.

"The odds of so many highly classified intelligence missions being compromised without a mole, infinitesimal," Prowl replied, and he handed back the report. "Jazz would be the first suspect."

"I don't believe it," Elita 1 declared, her optics flashing angrily at Prowl. "Jazz hates the 'Cons. He would never betray a single 'Bot to them."

"He is not the only suspect," Prowl replied without changing his tone. His doorwings sat level on his back. "But he is the most obvious one, and I suspect many of the officers will buy in to that idea."

"Hah," Elita 1 laughed. "You don't believe it either."

"I never said that," Prowl argued evenly.

"You don't need to," Elita 1 waved off Prowl's denial. "Who do you think it is?"

"Can you get me the files of every senior officer?" Prowl asked.

"Can and will," Elita 1 replied. "Can I trust you not to breath a word of this to Optimus?"

"I will not report to Optimus until I have all the data, and have come to a clear conclusion," Prowl said.

"I think I'm going to like you, Prowl," Elita 1 proclaimed. "I'll take my leave before Ratchet throws me out on my aft. I'll have those files to you tomorrow."

"Be careful," Prowl warned. His battle computer was listing off the numerous ways this could go horribly wrong.

"I always am," Elita 1 promised.

As the door slid shut behind Elita 1 Prowl let his doorwings sag. So Jazz was imprisoned because of him? Prowl felt a mixture of guilt, and pleasure. Other than Smokescreen there had been no one who ever felt concern for him, or no one who ever rose to his defence. To his creators, he had been a pawn. They wanted one of their creations to rise through the ranks of the Enforcers. Since they had already arranged for Smokescreen to enter the sciences, they paid handsomely for unscrupulous medics to install the most state of the art battle computer and logic processor into Prowl's protoform when he had just barely separated from his carrier. The combination of these systems and his juvenile form had never stopped causing Prowl trouble but the systems had so completely integrated into his protoform before he took his youngling upgrades, there would be no removing them.

Ever obedient to his creators, Prowl had joined the Enforcers after graduating with honours from the most prestigious university in Praxus. Smokescreen had tried to convince him that he did not have to allow their creators to dictate his path in life but what else could Prowl have done? With his battle computer, there would be no other employment for him, save for the military, and there was far too much death in the army. There had been too much death with the Enforcers too, but Prowl had never expected that, for all his advanced components. Jazz was no traitor. Prowl did not need his battle computer and his logic processor to list off the variables, or the probabilities. He himself already knew that Jazz was innocent. Prowl rolled careful onto his chassis and began cycling down to recharge. As he offlined his optics and his processors powered down, Prowl realized that he was actually ignoring his tactical compenents when it came to Jazz. This had never happened before, not with anyone.

"I like the mech," Elita 1 proclaimed as she intruded on Ratchet's office. The three seated mechs stared at her. She stole a cube of high grade from Ratchet's stash and downed it in one gulp.

"Really?" Optimus asked. "Did he help you build a strategy for your next mission."

"We're working on something big," Elita 1 replied, smiling. "No way has he been reprogrammed. Oh he's repressed but he's got a spark."

"I wonder if your pronouncement will do anything to convince my officers," Optimus wondered aloud.

"I doubt it," Elita 1 said with a shrug. "Intrigue isn't going to change his processor. The others will be just as skeptical. And I imagine Shockwave is probably going to hold a grudge."

"Slagging right," Ironhide grumbled.

"But if his strategies do anything to turn the tides," Optimus interjected. "They will come around."

"And if they don't, you can just replace them," Ratchet suggested mirthlessly.

"I'm sure that would go over really well," Optimus replied.

Elita 1 returned to the Palace of the Prime with Optimus and Ironhide. She pretended to retire to her suite in the guest wing. When her chronometer reported the passing of the seventieth joor, she slipped from her rooms and made her way down to the office of Optimus Prime. There were guards scattered throughout the Palace and Elita 1 kept to the shadows to avoid detection. This was more Jazz's speciality but Elita 1 was no slouch. Quietly, and quickly she hacked the locked to Prime's office and slipped inside. Not daring to turn on a light, Elita took a small flashlight from her subspace compartment and made her way to Optimus's personal computer. Naturally, it was well protected with several layers of encryption. Not being a hacker with an especially high level of expertise, Elita 1 did not try and hack the computer herself. Instead she inserted a chip into one of the many drives and let Jazz's little program do its work. Several kliks went by before Elita 1 was able to access Optimus' files. Wasting no time, Elita 1 found, and downloaded the files of every Autobot officer, from the lowest to the highest rank. Prowl had suggested the spy would be a senior officer but Elita 1 preferred to be thorough. After she had retrieved the information she saw, Elita 1 shut down the computer and removed her chip. There would be no trace of her hack, not even Jazz's program worked properly, anyways. Just as silently and carefully as before, Elita 1 sneaked back to her rooms. With the datapad loaded with the pilfered files safely tucked away in her subspace, Elita 1 let herself fall onto her berth and into recharge.

Lightped watched from a distance as the Decepticons unloaded yet another transport full of younglings into the prison. This was not what the pale grey femme was supposed to be watching for. Senators were missing and Autobot intelligence pointed to this prison. In the last orn, all Lightped had seen were younglings, and Decepticons. From her vantage point, a top the roof of a factory on the outskirts of Altihex. Already overrun with Decepticons, Altihex was not a good place for any Autobot to be. But Lightped wore a Decepticon insignia as part of her cover in case she was ever spotted. Still, she did her best to keep from sight. What did the Decepticons want with all these younglings? They may not have been senators but they were clearly not just normal prisoners. Elita 1 would want to know of this development. It was time for Lightped to return to Iacon.

"Younglings, Elita," Lightped exclaimed as the senior femme read her report. "Dozens of them. They go in, never out."

"There were reports in Praxus of the Decepticons taking younglings off the streets to be reprogrammed," Elita 1 said. She chewed her lower mouthplate. "Slag this is bad. Stay put. I need to report this to Prime."

Primus, younglings. This was worse than senators, at least as far as Elita 1 was concerned. The Decepticons could be building an army of reprogrammed younglings. The hunt for the traitor would have to wait. Prowl had been going over the files for just over nearly two orns. While he had narrowed the list of suspects considerably there was no single officer that stood out as the traitor. As such, Elita 1 would not allow any of the other officers to see Lightped, not even Optimus Prime. It was the best way to keep her spy safe. Elita 1 raced through the halls of the Palace and barged into Prime's office without bothering to announce herself.

"Younglings, Optimus," she echoed Lightpeds horror. "Transport after transport are bringing younglings to that prison. Whatever the 'Cons are doing to those younglings, they aren't coming out again."

"By the Pit," Optimus swore angrily, and took the report from Elita 1. "This is worse than anything we could have imagined."

"We have to mount a rescue mission," Elita 1 demanded. "They're younglings!"

"According to your spies report, all the prison guards are Enforcers," Optimus said. "We aren't going to be able to slip in unnoticed. And there is no launching an attack on a locations so close to a 'Con held city."

"Praxian Enforcers," Elita 1 corrected. "In case you're forgetting, we have one."

"Ratchet has only just begun considering releasing Prowl from the clinic," Optimus argued. "He is not going to clear him for this sort of mission."

"Why don't we just let Prowl decide what he's prepared to do?" Elita 1 countered. "This is the sort of thing he was trying to stop in Praxus. Do you think he's going to want to sit around while dozens of younglings are in danger?"

"Ratchet must clear him first," Optimus insisted. "He nearly rejoined the Allspark less than a quartex ago. If he is not fit for duty, he isn't going."

Optimus begrudgingly allowed Elita 1 to go with him to Ratchet's clinic. He was irritated with the femme for dismissing the danger this prospective mission held for Prowl. It was, on no uncertain terms, a suicide mission in the making. Prowl was not trained in espionage, and yet they would be asking him to go into the heart of a Decepticon prison, to find the younglings and to somehow sabotage the prison in such away that a strike force of Autobots would be able to launch a rescue. It was insane, and it was suicide, and it meant that Jazz would be getting out of the stockades just a little early.

"I'll speak with Ratchet, alone," Optimus said as the arrived at the clinic. Elita 1 shrugged her shoulders. Let Prime be irritated. There was no way in the Pit Elita 1 would abandoned those younglings to the Decepticons, and if she had to recruit Prowl on the sly, why she had no problem with that.

"Evening, Optimus," Ratchet called from his desk, as Optimus stepped into his office. "I wasn't expecting you."

"This isn't a pleasure call," Optimus sighed. "How's Prowl?"

"Ready to be released to Smokescreen," Ratchet replied, frowning slightly. "Actually, Smokescreen was by earlier helping Prowl with his paint job."

"Would he be fit for a covert operation?" Optimus asked weerily.

"What sort of operation?" Ratchet asked, dimming his optics with suspicion. "He's been stuck in a berth for almost a quartex, the sensors in his doorwings are still hyper sensitive... But you wouldn't be asking me this if it wasn't big."

"The Decepticons have a host of younglings locked up in their prison off of Altihex," Optimus explained. "We don't know their condition. The only thing we know is that the guards of the prison are Praxian enforcers."

"I see," Ratchet said. "I don't like the sounds of this, but neither do you."

"Elita 1 is determined to lauch a rescue, whatever the risk or the cost," Optimus explained. "I'm afraid she'll seek Prowl out on her own, and then lead him off to mutual destruction."

"You'd better have a good plan to keep that mech operational," Ratchet threatened. "I've put a lot of work in putting him back together."

"Jazz is being released from the stockades as we speak," Optimus said. "He'll be here in a few kliks."

"Alright, go give him the data," Ratchet sighed. "I suspect, despite his fragging logic computer, he'll go along with this insanity."

Optimus let himself into Prowl's treatment room; Elita 1 followed him in. Prowl looked fully functional, his paint was fresh and glossy, and it included his Enforcer decals. Perhaps it was fate. Optimus began to outline the mission, but Elita 1 quickly interrupted and took over the briefing completely. Prowl took the datapad containing the report from the femme and made quick work memorizing the prison blueprints Elita's spy had managed to steal.

"A mock assault will have to be place here," Prowl said after listening to all Elita 1 and Optimus had to say. He pointed the south wall of the prison. It's farthest away from the bulk of the cells. As that is taking place, and drawing the bulk of the guards away from the prisoners, another team is going to have to join me and the east side entrance. From there we will have to act quickly to shuttle the younglings from the prisons."

"That's processor of yours works quickly," Elita 1 marveled.

"The odds of this mission succeeding are only 20%," Prowl replied. "Closer to 18%, really."

"We can do better than that with me around, mech," Jazz cheered as he strutted into the room. "I've got a good team. We'll have your back."

Prowl kept his expression schooled but he felt his spark leap at the side, and the sound of Jazz. Even with the company of Elita 1, and their investigation into the officers, Prowl had missed the exuberant white and black mech. Now Jazz was standing there, grinning at him. It made his spark leap in its chamber. Which, when Prowl considered it, was really quite a strangely powerful reaction to be having at the sight of a friend.

"It's good to see you Jazz," Prowl said once all the others had left his soon to be vacated treatment room. "I trust you are none the worse for wear?"

"Are you kiddin'?" Jazz laughed before clasping Prowl's shoulder. "Two orns in the stockades was a mini vacation. You've been workin' with Elita."

"She was agreeable enough," Prowl replied. He did not shrink from the physical contact. Actually, he rather enjoyed it. When he let his battle computer go over his reactions to Jazz later, Prowl suspected he was going to come away with quite the processor ache.

"You're lookin' good, Prowler," Jazz mused. "So this is what you look like when your not greyed over?"

"Indeed," Prowl replied. Then he paused. "Prowler...?"

"Do you really think you can blend in with the prison guards?" Jazz asked, carefully side stepping the matter of his new nickname from Prowl.

"I managed for nearly a vorn as an Enforcer," Prowl replied. "After I put the appropriate wear into this paint, I will blend in perfectly."

"Good to hear," Jazz said. "Shockwave hasn't been back to harass you?"

"No," Prowl replied, he vented. "I don't suspect he relished his 'vacation' as much as you did. Have you ever considered practising more restraint?"

"Nah," Jazz chuckled and shook his helm. "Not unless I'm neck deep in 'Cons."

"Somehow, I am not the least bit surprised," Prowl replied. In spite of himself, he smiled.

"Report," Megatron ordered, his faceplates filling the screen of Shockwave's communication console.

"The Praxian Enforcer is going to infiltrate the prison at Altihex," Shockwave said. "To rescue the younglings, of course. I believe this will be a perfect opportunity to capture him. He has already had access to deeply classified Autobot materials."

"Materials you have not accessed?" Megatron asked with a faint hiss of temper.

"Sadly yes," Shockwave confessed. "The Prime's spies have not been forthcoming with me."

"Then capture the Autobot Enforcer," Megatron ordered. "And get back to work experimenting on those younglings. Perhaps if you perfect your method in time you can use it on the Autobot and sent him back as a spy for me."

"As you command, my liege," Shockwave replied. He rose from his seat at the console and walked across his basement to look up at the contents of the cage he had said up along the wall. It was a crude cell, with a utilitarian berth as its only furniture. Shockwave much preferred to play outside of the cage. The near by shelves were lined with his favourite implements.

"How unfortunate, my pet," Shockwave said as he walked over to the cage. It's small, red occupant growled wordless back at him. When Shockwave got close enough, the minibot spat, striking Shockwave near his sole optic. "Tsk. Tsk. You're going to have to be punished for that. Perhaps when I leave tomorrow I should leave you without energon. Won't you be glad to see me upon my return when you are near dead from energon starvation?"

"Go to the Pit, you sick slagstard," his pet replied.

"Tsk, tsk," Soundwave mocked the far smaller mech. "You really must learn some manners."

End Chapter 5

AN: This has not been beta-ed. I suspect that is obvious enough. But I'm excited enough at the idea that I finished a chapter for this fic after so long, I'm posted it in this raw state. I do hope you enjoy it.


	6. Chapter 6

Many Shades of Black

Chapter 6

And cue Dr. Frankenstein.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; I'm just prostituting it for my amusement.

Summary: NOT TEETH VERSE Jazz finds an Enforcer in the ruins of Praxus. Even though Enforcers are the lackeys of Megatron he stays with the mech so that he won't deactivate alone. Except the mech doesn't die.

Warning: M/M robot smut, war

Pairings: Jazz/ Prowl

**Klik: One minute, **1.2 kliks

**Joor: One Hour, **not giving it a specific length, suffice it to say that Cybertron does not share the same orbit or rotation as Earth, an hour, a day would be different lengths from ours

**Mega-cycle: One Day,** 93 hours/ joors

**Orn: One Week**, 13 mega-cycles

**Quartex: One Month,** 4 orns

**Stellar Cycle: One Year,** 7.5 quartexes

**Vorn: Length of Sparklinghood and Younglinghood: **83 stellar cycles.

* * *

><p>"I wish I had my buddy's mod," Hound sighed as he huddled with Jazz, and the rest of the Special Ops team amongst the remains of the Altihex neighbourhood closest to the prison. The neighbourhood had been destroyed in the battle for the city, and the 'Cons hadn't bothered to rebuilt it. They had just watched Prowl make entry into to the prison with a handful of other Praxian-framed Enforcers through the same small entrance they planned to breach at his signal.<p>

"He's got some special tricks?" Jazz asked, never taking his eyes of the east entrance.

"'Raj can disappear," Hound explained. "Sort of a cloaking mechanism."

"Sweet," Jazz replied, venting softly. "You've tried recruitin' him?"

"He's neutral to his core," Hound said. "Not built for war."

"Isn't that the Pit," Jazz sighed himself. "That is exactly the kind of trick that would be great about now."

* * *

><p>Lightped watched the prison from the factory roof she had made into her roost. The prison itself had once been a factory, a block of them in fact. When Altihex had fallen to the 'Cons, they had turned to lonely series of buildings into a prison complex, and built a great wall around the old buildings. She knew Commander Intrigue had a unit within striking distances of the south wall, and she knew Jazz's Special Ops were within a klik or two from the east entrance, the side entrance to the prison. Not that she could see any of this. One of the Special Ops had a field generator that hid his team, and Commander Intrigue had his forces hidden within a series of abandoned buildings. It was to the Autobots' benefit that much of Altihex had been abandoned once the Decepticons had firmly entrenched themselves in the city.<p>

"What's this?" Lightped asked herself, as she watched a familiar purple mech step out from within the prison itself and into the main yard. The gates to the prison slid open and a small transport entered in. Lightped activated the telescopic function of her unique optics. From out of the transport stepped the mech that made her spark freeze solid with terror. Megatron. Shock and horror overwhelmed Lightped's processor when she got a good look at the purple mech. It was Shockwave, the Prime's third in command.

"It's Shockwave," Lightped exclaimed over her comm, calling to both Jazz and Elita 1 simultaneously. "He's the traitor! He's in the prison with Megatron!"

The small femme heard a storm of panic and anger explode over the comm before she deactivated it. She dared not leave the comm open. This close to a Decepticon stronghold, here was a grave danger that her comm signal would be detected. There was no staying on this roof top; she had to leave, now. Her peds barely made a sound as Lightped ran across the roof and down the first flight of stairs. Lightped had almost made it to the bottom floor before the shadowed figure stepped in front of her, blocking the doorway. She ran. It was no use. Lightped knew within seconds that she was doomed. She was small, and she was fast but this 'Con was huge, heavily armed, and blocking the only exist. Elita 1 had admonished her tendency for always choosing the high ground. It was a better tactic to choose a vantage point with with multiple escape routes.

"Keeping an optic on the Praxian?" the Decepticon asked in an eerily pleasant voice.

"They know about Prowl," Lightped screamed as she reactivated her comm. The terror in her voice resonating in static. "They know!"

"Now, now," the Decepticon chortled. "What good do you think that is going to do? Come with me... Lord Megatron would love to have a word with you."

"Never!" Lightped screamed., backing up as she did. Elita 1 and Jazz heard her charge her laser pistol. Defiant, Lightped glared at the approaching Decepticon and the nozzle of her weapon against the plating over her spark. As she fired, her comm screeched one last time, and then went silent.

* * *

><p>"Slag!" Jazz swore viciously. "They got the femme. It was Lightped."<p>

"Fragging 'Cons," Hound lamented. He took a moment to pat Jazz lightly on the back. They had all known there was a femme in deep cover within the city. None of them, only Jazz and Elita 1, had known wish femme.

"Prowl's been compromised," Jazz said, standing up. "I'm goin' in. Stay here."

"How do you plan on getting in?" Trailbreaker asked.

"The sewers," Jazz replied. "Prowl's got no idea he's been had. I'm no leavin' him to Megatron's tender mercies. Wait for the signal. If we don't give within a joor..."

"We've got the charges," Hound said and held up a round device. "Be careful."

"Where's the fun in that?" Jazz replied. With that he slunk from the cover of Trailbreaker's field and made is way to the sewer. In case something like this were to happen, Jazz had hidden a tracking device underneath Prowl's armour, this his consent. Only his visor was tuned to the frequency of this particular device. Jazz activated the device and a red blip appeared across the little screen. Prowl. He had Prowl had made note of it during their tactical planning. According to Lightped's intel, it was unguarded. The 'Cons may not even have known that the pipe connected to the prison at all. It was going to be messy, it wouldn't be the first time Jazz had made a run through the sewers. At least there were no mutants here.

* * *

><p>It had been miraculously easy for Prowl to integrate himself into the prison. These Enforcers were unquestioning. They had been reprogrammed so to not think for themselves. Prowl suppressed a shiver at the thought. He focused on keeping his doorwings perfectly level and his faceplates perfectly schooled. Enforcers patrolled every hall. There was no were, so far, Prowl was unable to go. Every Enforcer in the prison walked the same way, spoke the same way, and Prowl was careful to mimic every movement.<p>

He dared not rush. The Enforcers here were in no hurry. They never slowed or sped up their walk unless personally summoned by the prison warden. This must have been the fate of all the Enforcers who had showed too much free thinking. Prowl's accursed battle computer and logic processor had saved him from this fate. It was a rare moment when Prowl felt a hint of gratitude towards his creators. There would be no asking for directions to the cell block where the younglings were being held. So far, all the cells Prowl had based contained fully matured mechs and femmes. None wore Autobot insignias, Prowl noted, but many did wear the sign of the Decepticons. Perhaps this was where Megatron help his less agreeable subordinates.

The Enforcers did not chatter amongst themselves. This was a clear difference between the corrupt, and power hungry Enforcers Prowl had spent his career working with. These Enforcers were drones. It was not a fate Prowl planned for himself, and as he he walked down yet another flight of stairs, towards the lowest cell blocks, he enabled subroutines in his battle computer to allow him to bring about his own end. It was, even to his logic processor, the better option when faced with that scenario.

Now this was different. The door to this cell block was locked, and not with the standard lock found in any cell block Prowl had ever visited. It looked exceedingly complicated. Prowl sucked a long breath through his intakes. Jazz had given him a program to hack any lock he found, but this lock looked very well made, and Prowl was sceptical any program he only had to insert into the mechanism would be so effective. In less than a klik Prowl heard a ping and the door slid open. It appeared that he would need to learn to have more faith in Jazz. He stepped silently into the renovated cell block and waited for the door the slide shut behind him. Interestingly, it locked automatically. This was a very different layout from the blueprints Lightped had recovered. According to the blue prints, the cell block should have contained three rows of ceiling high cells made up of grids of strong mental and containment fields. The idea of this design was that even if the containment fields were to fail, the metal bars would keep the prisoners contained until the back up generators could come online. All the cells had been removed. In the centre of the former cell block was a sea of medical, and laboratory equipment. Some of it reminded Prowl of what he had seen in Ratchet's office. Some of it reminded him of the tools the Enforcers had once found at the home of a deranged murderer. Prowl could see clear across the cavernous room to the far door.

While there were a few cells along the wall perpendicular to Prowl, these half dozen cells that remained were small, just barely taller than he, and they were made up solely of a simple metal frame that supported containment fields on all sides. Prowl's fuel tank churned. The 'Cons were doing much more than simple reprogramming here. It was a surgery out of a horror novel. He walked passed the first few cells. They were barren of furniture, save for a single small berth in each cell. The berths were too small for fully developed mechs, or femmes. The grey metal floor of one cell was badly scratched, and the berth had been upended. All three cells were empty. Every cell in the room was empty. Except one, Prowl hurried over to the fifth cell.

"Stay away!" The sleek red painted youngling hissed. He was not alone in the cell. A yellow painted youngling, of what appeared to be a similar frame type, lay offline on the only berth.

"What's your designation?" Prowl asked as he crouched on the other side of the energy field from red youngling. His doorwings lowered as he examined the clearly terrified young mech.

"What do you care?" The youngling snapped. He slipped back, deeper into the cell, and closer to the other youngling.

"My designation is Prowl. I've come here on behalf of the Autobots to free you."

"I don't believe you," the youngling exclaimed. Coolant tears appeared in his optics. He so wanted to believe.

"Is that your brother?" Prowl asked. The youngling was deeply traumatized, and Prowl did not know if he was capable of soothing him. "I have a brother myself, older. I also have a foster not much younger than young. His name is Bluestreak."

"You have a youngling?" The young mech asked, relaxing just a little. "Why're you an Enforcer if you've got family?"

"My family wanted me to be an Enforcer," Prowl explained. "Other than my brother. I think he would have preferred I be anything else."

"So you're an Autobot?" The youngling asked, looking at Prowl, suspiciously.

"Yes," Prowl replied. "Optimus Prime himself has sent me to free you from the Decepticons."

Before the youngling could say anything else, Prowl heard voices on the other side of the locked door. He had less than a klik before the unlocking sequence would finish. Where could he hide? His doorwings stuck out far too much to make ducking behind a table possible.

"There's a storage closet to your right," the red youngling point to the nondescript door. Had it been in the blue prints? Prowl dove for the door, and prayed it was unlocked. It was. He slipped in silently, flattening his door wings as best he could to prevent from hitting any of the shelves or supplies. The door slid shut with a faint thump, just as the door to the laboratory opened. Prowl turned of his fans, and became totally silent.

"And this is where our research is taking place," Shockwave explained. "Hook was a trifle bit impatient in my absence, and most of the subjects have deactivated."

"Where is he?" His companion growled.

"In the barracks," Shockwave replied. "Awaiting your punishment."

"Good," his companion said, with unveiled irritation. "Has my indulgence of your little experiment been a waste?"

"No, my Lord," Shockwave replied, smoothly. "I have made great strides with these two. Split-sparks, you see. I have operated repeatedly on the first one to see how the results affect his twin. So far I have replaced numerous components in his processor. After the next surgery, he will be completely reprogrammed from his components up. He will live for combat, and obey no one but you. And it is completely irreversible."

"And the twin?" His lord asked. Prowl felt his battle computer rev up calculations and his processor threaten to lock. Megatron was in the very next room... Primus. He barely made note of the revelation that it was Shockwave who was the spy within the Autobots. It did not, honestly, surprise him.

"He will be compelled to go along with his split-spark," Shockwave pronounced. "I do plan on repeating the same procedures on him. We cannot be too thorough."

"Indeed," Megatron replied. "Summon the Enforcers into the cafeteria. "I want that Autobot in my hands, now."

"As you wish, my Lord," Shockwave said. "If you'll follow me to the control room, I will page them."

"And you will recognize the Autobot?" Megatron asked with a faint hiss to his voice. "They all appear close to identical."

"Close, but they all have slight difference to their frames and faceplates," Shockwave replied. "Have no fear, my Lord. I will have the Autobot jumping out from the lines of Enforcers, and right into your arms."

Prowl's systems threatened to overheat with the speed at which his battle computer and logic processor were working, but he dared not turn on his fans or manually intake air. He listened for Shockwave and Megatron to leave, and he still did not dare move. His spark pulsed painfully in its chamber, fear gripping and freezing him in place. After a klik, he onlined his optics; Prowl had not even realized he'd offlined them. In front of him was a box marked with the word "wire." Just barely, Prowl turned his helm and took stock of what was stored in this closet. Basic components, plating, struts, all the basic pieces it took to rebuild a Cybertronian. There was a mop just centimetres from Prowl's arm. As Prowl finally turned on his fans and took a slow, and very quiet intake, he smelled stale energon. While the laboratory was kept meticulously clean, the same could not be said for the closet. His tanks threatened to purge.

"They're gone," the youngling called. Prowl took another deep intake. His logic processor told Prowl that the youngling was not likely lying. Still, Prowl hesitated before opening the closet door, and sliding out. Thankfully, the youngling had indeed been telling the truth.

"My designation's Sideswipe," the youngling said in a voice that sounded as though he was trying desperately to be brave.

"And your brother?" Prowl asked, shifting his glance to the youngling on the berth. What would be his state when he came online? What Shockwave had said was truly hideous.

"Sunstreaker," Sideswipe replied softly. "He's not gonna be a 'Con. I'm telling you he won't."

"It's okay," Prowl said. "Try not to think about what Shockwave said. I'm going to see about shorting out you cell. Then we are getting out of here."

Prowl had studied containment technologies at university. He knew that all containment fields had the same basic construct, the same inherent strengths and weaknesses. They could be shorted out. The only problem was that while they were all basically the same, and the same action would short them out, just where that little blue wire was located, was different on every model. These cells were not of the highest quality. They were meant to be set up as temporary holding cells when the primary cells in any prison or Enforcer station glitched. Had this cell been online longer, it would have been easier to take down. But it was fairly fresh, with no obvious weak point in the mental construction. Prowl was going to have a difficult time cutting into the plating and physically looking for the construct's fatal flaw. The door the laboratory flew open with great whoosh and Prowl froze in shock and fear. Sideswipe shrieked.

* * *

><p>"I've got this, Prowler," Jazz proclaimed as he strolled in from the door opposite that of which Prowl had entered.<p>

"Jazz?" Prowl asked. His processor was threatening to crash from the surprise. "Why are you in here?"

"Shockwave's the spy," Jazz announced. Noting the lack of surprise on Prowl's faceplates, Jazz added: "But I guess you already knew that."

"Both he and Megatron have been by," Prowl explained. "How did you get in here without setting off an alarm?"

"I took out a few of the guards, and put a little bug in the security system," Jazz replied. "The prison's anti-virus software will purge it soon, we only have a few kliks. Step aside, Prowler."

"You said your name was Prowl!" Sideswipe cried. Prowler was close but it was not Prowl and he latched on to that discrepancy.

"It is, younglin'" Jazz said, glancing at Sideswipe as he used his visor to scan the metal frame of the cell. "I just like to call'm Prowler."

"It's alright, Sideswipe," Prowl said, trying to calm the youngling. It was no use, Sideswipe retreated to the back of the cell and curled himself over his brother.

"Oops," Jazz muttered. "Sorry 'bout that. I'll have ya outta here in a klik."

"_Enforcers report to the cafeteria. All Enforcers report to the cafeteria." The order crackled over the prison intercom._

Jazz swore viciously and looked quickly over each inch of the cell's frame, trying to decide how to take down the field. He dared not use a he had a few tricks for taking out these sort of containment fields, but most of them involved explosives, and Jazz dared not risk the commotion, or the younglings. The containment field was activated and deactivated by the use of a small touchscreen. There was no place to plug in a cable and hack the mechanism. Activating the magnets in his servos, Jazz tried to short out the lock. The containment field flickered but it didn't go down. In a moment of clarity, Jazz took a small tool from his subspace stash and pried the touchscreen out of the frame. Sparks flew around Jazz's hands as he dug into the circuitry within the frame. After several kliks, Jazz made a quick prayer to Primus and activated his magnets again. Smoke and sparks exploded from the hole and the field went down. From the back of the cell Sideswipe whimpered and clung to his brother, covering Sunsteaker with his own body. Prowl gestured for Jazz to stay put and he stepped into the cell. He knelt next to the younglings, within reach but he made no move to touch them.

"I'm not going to ask you to trust me," Prowl said, softly. "I know that is too much to ask. But I need to ask you to help me. You have to let me pick up Sunstreaker so we can get you both out of here. Can you do that for me? I'm not going to force you."

"You're just going to hurt us," Sideswipe whimpered, crying now. "No one cares about us. No one would rescue us."

"We will not hurt you, Sideswipe," Prowl promised. "I promise I am not leaving you in this Pit. If you stay, so will I."

"Prowl..." Jazz warned. There was no slagging way he was leaving Prowl here.

"That's stupid," Sideswipe replied. Staring at Prowl's faceplates with tear blurred optics.

"No kiddin'," Jazz rumbled.

"Okay," Sideswipe said, after half a klik. He slid off the berth, and off of his brother. Gently, so very gently, Prowl scooped Sunstreaker into his arms.

"_Intruder alert!" Shockwave's voice blared over the intercom. "Intruder alert! All units to the lab."_

"It's time for that signal!" Jazz exclaimed. Prowl juggled and pulled a small device from his subspace, and handed it to Jazz. The saboteur pressed the single button on the oval device. A blue light flashed. Identical devices in the possession of Hound and Intrigue would now be flashing in kind.

"Let's book it!" Jazz ordered, he took Sideswipe by the arm and ran, have leading and half pulling him across the laboratory to the door he had entered in.

"Lead the way," Prowl replied, following just a few steps behind Jazz. "We only have a few kliks before the Enforcers arrive from the central cafeteria."

"We've got less than that," Jazz stopped Prowl for just an instant as the door shut behind him. He stuck a round black box against the locking mechanism and activated it. "That's slow'em down."

They only made halfway down the hall before the bomb exploded, disabling the lock. The 'Cons would have to use the manual overrides to open that door. Jazz looked left, and then right when they came to the end of the hall. Sideswipe struggled to keep up, and losing patience Jazz hefted him up and over his shoulder, he received only one quick punch to back for his troubles. Prowl followed Jazz as he turned to the left.

"This Pit is thick with 'Cons," Jazz explained as they ran. "They came with Megatron."

Alarms blared through the prison as it shook with the force of multiple explosions. Prowl prayed the Decepticons would be drawn to the south end of the prison complex. Further explosions rocked the prison. As they turned a corner Jazz fired his gun at a lone Decepticon. He swore and kept is arm firmly around Sideswipe's lower half. Sharpshooting was not made easier by carrying a squirming youngling. It was next to impossible for Prowl to shoot at all; he could not carry Sunsteaker over his shoulder. His doorwings would not tolerate the weight.

When they stepped out of the prison the sound of the battle raging on the other side of the complex met their audios. The ground rumbled beneath their peds and they ran for dear life. Intrigue had not skimped on his forces, apparently. No Decepticon, and no Enforcer crossed their paths. Then they saw why.

"Come on!" Hound yelled, gesturing wildly from beside the next building. Several deactivated 'Cons and Enforcers lay scattered between the main prison block and the outbuilding. "Intrigue's forces are faking a retreat. They're going to leading them off to the other side of the city!"

Hound led his fellow Autobots around the outbuilding, and to the west, not the east. Trailbreaker was waiting just inside a hole in the great wall. When his comrades were within distance, Trailbreaker activated his field generator, and led the way through the hole. None of them spoke, the moment they were all threw the hole, they set off running. They weaved their way through the ruins of the outer city. Only when the sounds of the battle, were a distant echo, did they stop running. Jazz let Sideswipe down, carefully. The young mech was shaking as he looked over Hound and Trailbreaker. Prowl laid Sunstreaker down gently. His battle processor threw out several strategies for how best to escape Altihex with the two younglings. Intrigue was not following the strategy Prowl had laid out for him. Improvising was not own of Prowl's strong points. Only Trailbreaker was really big enough to carry a youngling the perilous distance back to Iacon. Prowl doubted that Sideswipe would be able to drive all the way under his own power.

"He's waking up," Sideswipe exclaimed, breaking Prowl from his revery. He looked down at Sunstreaker, and saw no change. He leaned just a little closer. Suddenly, Sunstreaker's optics shot online, bright, blue, and feral. With a vicious snarl he bunch Prowl in the faceplates as hard as he could before tackling him. Caught completely off guard, Prowl land hard on his still very tender doorwings.

"I'll kill you," Sunstreaker snarled. Prowl had no doubt at all that this was exactly what Sunstreaker planned to do.

End Chapter 6.

* * *

><p>AN: Ever time I see the title of this fic. In my defence I posted this BEFORE Many Shades of Grey. The title of this fic was inspired by Adele's song. Still, I cringe.<p>

This chapter was once again unbetaed. The previous chapter has been seen to and will get some edits (grammar, nothing plot related). Sure, I should probably wait until this can get edited but do you want to wait until after Christmas? I don't XD

Please let me know if the formatting is screwy. Working on FFN issues.


	7. Chapter 7

Many Shades of Black

Chapter 7

The first time the Twins drive Ratchet to drink. Sort of.

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; I'm just prostituting it for my amusement.

Summary: NOT TEETH VERSE Jazz finds an Enforcer in the ruins of Praxus. Even though Enforcers are the lackeys of Megatron he stays with the mech so that he won't deactivate alone. Except the mech doesn't die.

Warning: M/M robot smut, war

Pairings: Jazz/ Prowl

**Klik: One minute, **1.2 kliks

**Joor: One Hour, **not giving it a specific length, suffice it to say that Cybertron does not share the same orbit or rotation as Earth, an hour, a day would be different lengths from ours

**Mega-cycle: One Day,** 93 hours/ joors

**Orn: One Week**, 13 mega-cycles

**Quartex: One Month,** 4 orns

**Stellar Cycle: One Year,** 7.5 quartexes

**Vorn: Length of Sparklinghood and Younglinghood: **83 stellar cycles.

* * *

><p>Four mechs filled Ratchet's private office, waiting for the medic to finish his examination of the rescued split-sparks. Optimus leaned against the bare wall by the only door. His optics were offline, and his arms were crossed over his chassis. He knew Ironhide was close by, only a few steps away, by Ratchet's desk. Often, more often than not, Ironhide stood beside his Prime, nearly touching. It was easier to defend the leader of the Cybertron if he was close at all times. But Optimus needed space to mull over, to agonize over the events of the day. Knowing this, Ironhide kept his distance, as much as he was willing to, at least. This, despite Optimus had not demanded it, or even asked for it. Ironhide read him far too well despite not having been Optimus's personal guard for terribly long.<p>

Megatron had deactivated his predecessor. Just as Megatron had deactivated the Prime's Second-in-Command. Optims felt spark deep grief for Intrigue's deactivation, but it was not the focused of the Prime's thoughts. Shockwave... It was impossible for Optimus to fathom that his Third-in-Command had been in league with Megatron. Had he been a spy for the Decepticons since before Orion Pax became Optimus Prime, or had Megatron offered Shockwave something worth turning his back on the Autobots. Optimus could not decide which was a worse prospect.

"We will need to search Shockwave's residence," Prowl said, deadpan as per usual, after more than an joor of silence. The Enforcer was standing with Jazz, next to the fold out berth Ratchet had installed in his office when he had first purchased the space. If he kept any other residence, it was rarely used. Ratchet more or less lived in his clinic.

"And his office," Jazz added, anger plain in his voice. "We need to know how much intel he got his servos on."

Optimus remained silent, though he had certainly heard them. Yes, it would be imperative to discover just what Shockwave had revealed to Megatron over the course of the war. Certainly everything related to tactical planning and the army. How much more had he managed to prune from other departments. Certainly the femmes had suffered heavy losses. Though Elita 1 had never appeared especially fond of Shockwave. His rank as TIC would have given him some leverage with garnering information in regards to missions not stamped the Prime's seal (missions only known to Optimus himself and specific division commanders, often Jazz). Intrigue had held the chain of command as sacred. Shockwave had always shown comrodery, towards him. He been endless open to sharing information, and working one on one with the former TIC in battle planning for the army. The thought was horrific, but it was likely that Intrigue had engaged Shockwave in organizing his "revised" plan against the prison.

"As soon as Ratchet reports on the condition of the younglings, we will organize a search of Shockwave's properties," Optimus finally applied. "I want mechs from your division, Jazz, involved in both the search of his office, and his home."

"Got it, Boss Bot," Jazz said. He immediately set his processor to considering who would search where.

* * *

><p>"Pit-sparked slagtard fragged with the wrong part of his processor," Ratchet growled when he finally returned to his office. He snatched a cube of high grade from his stash and downed it in one gulp. "They wanted to make themselves obedient death machines. Yeah? Obedient, fragging likely. They fragged around, rerouting connections and rewriting coding governing impulse control. They might as well have rewired his emotion centre too.. A death machine, likely since he'll get angry, and homicidal at the drop of a hat."<p>

"Is he dangerous?" Optimus asked, youngling or not, innocent or not, if he was dangerous the youngling would have to be held in containment if he was a danger to others.

"More to himself than anyone else," Ratchet said. "From what I managed to gleam from the pair, Sunstreaker has always been more impulsive than Sideswipe, and Sideswipe can be plenty impulsive. Normal enough for younglings. But Sunstreaker is now more impulsive than he ever would have been, and there is no growing out of it. I could go in and try and repair the rewiring but his processor has been fragged over that I'm more likely to cause his processor to go offline permanently; I'm assuming it is a given that this is not going to be done, and if you, any of you even dares to suggest it, I turn you into spare parts. He's going to get into trouble. A lot of trouble, with authority and just in general. If someone dared him to jump off the highest building in Iacon he'd likely do it given the right/wrong situation. The only blessing, the only solitary blessing is that he and Sideswipe are split-sparks. Sideswipe can reign Sunstreaker in, when he wants to."

"And his emotions?" Prowl asked.

"From what I can tell, he now feels them more strongly than normal," Ratchet explained. "I follow the theory that emotions are created in our sparks and they are acted on by our processors. His processor now magnifies what he feels. When he's happy, his ecstatic. When he's angry, he's enraged. Etc. This is actually why he attacked you, Prowl. When he came online your presence startled him. Surprise easy morphs into fear, and fear triggers his survival programming. Apparently, flight has rarely been his reaction. Fight was the way of the streets in Kaon. That's where they were sparked, and that's where they were kidnapped from. They'd been running with a street gang since they took their youngling upgrades. Carrier was a prostibot, Sire unknown. They didn't have a good start in life, and the 'Cons have made sure that it won't be any easier from here on out."

"Can we place them in a youngling home?" Optimus asked. "Once they have recovered from their torture and imprisonment?"

"Most likely," Ratchet replied. "The caretakers are going to need to understand thought that they are not like other younglings and they need to be handled with great patience. They like other younglings. They're more used to living with other younglings than they are living with adults. As a rule they distrust adults."

"Would it be helpful if I brought Blue to the clinic to visit with them?" Prowl asked. "The only younglings they have seen in how many quartexes were all tortured and deactivated in front of them."

"That's an excellent idea, Prowl!" Ratchet said, and smiled for the briefest of seconds. "It'll be a good for them to interact with a youngling other than each other. I'm asking Smokescreen to advised on the Twins' cases in any case. He can bring Blue with him when he comes."

"That sounds appropriate," Prowl replied. He and Bluestreak were after all staying with Smokescreen at the moment.

"We'll leave the Twins to you, Ratchet," Optimus said. "We need to return to the Palace..."

"Make sure you watch for traps," Ratchet warned. "I don want to see any of you back here for repairs because you went in guns blazing."

"Traps are my specialty, Hatchet," Jazz chirped. His smile went from mirthful to devious in the a nanosecond. Prowl had already learned that Jazz would likely need to be reigned in himself when that expression crossed his faceplates.

* * *

><p>As their chronometers rolled to the third joor, two teams of mechs and femmes slip silent through the streets of Iacon, approaching their targets without alerting the recharging residents of the surrounding buildings that anything was amiss. One group, led by Elita 1, enter the Palace, the doors opened for them by Ironhide so no staff member was made aware, and made their way quietly down the halls and made entry to Shockwave's office. The other group, let by both Jazz and Prowl, broke into Shockwave's private residence. Jazz entered first, the saboteur ready to disable any trap the Autobot TIC turned Decepticon psychopath may have left behind.<p>

Jazz found no traps, nothing more than your standard, high end alarm system. Certainly nothing that concerned the burglary expert that was Jazz. With Jazz's signal, Prowl and the rest of their team entered the former SIC's residence. It had been under close surveillance since less than a joor after Elita 1 had alerted Prime to Shockwave's duplicity. They knew Shockwave had attempted to return to his home. Prowl kept his doorwing sensors tuned to the highest setting. While Jazz was an expert had both setting and defusing traps, Prowl's doorwings allowed him to sense energy readings. If anyone was hiding in the house, if certain types of nefarious devices were installed in the walls, Prowl's doorwings would feel them.

A single private comm channel was kept open between the team. Echoes of "all clear" called over the channel as one by one each room was searched, and each room was cleared of any Cybertronians, or traps. Before long, every room was cleared and the team began pouring over every cubic centimetre of Shockwave's former home. Every item, no matter how small or insignificant was examined. Each time Prowl walked passed one particular datapad unit in Shockwave's ornate home office his doorwing sensor detected just the faintest blip of something... off. On closer inspection, Prowl found nothing to be amiss on the unit. He removed every datapad, and every decoration, and Prowl examined the bare shelves with all the care and attention his years of investigating crime had taught him. Still, there was no sign of just what was setting off his sensors. When he tuned his doorwings sensors down to medium, the normal level at which they were set, they detected nothing, but when he tuned the sensors back up to high they once again detected a faint blip of heat. Prowl ran a kick diagnostic on his sensor and they read as normal. Though his doorwings were still hyper sensitive to touch, they were no more sensitive to detecting heat, EM fields, etc than they had ever been. Finally, he attempted to physically move the unit, first side to side and then forward. The united moved away from the wall, just a small amount.

"Whatcha doin' Prowler?" Jazz asked when he noticed Prowl's odd focus on the datapad unit.

"Something is triggering my doorwing sensors," Prowl explained, not bother to turn and face Jazz. "They detect a small point of heat. I cannot find the source. And there is nothing on the other side of the united. Only the wall. No visible sign of a secret door."

"Your good at this," Jazz hummed. "I guess that makes sense. Let me help you move the unit outta the way."

Prowl gave Jazz a cursory nod and together they moved the unit well away from the wall. Jazz ran his servos over the wall, feeling for gaps, for cracks, for warmth. Feeling nothing, Jazz activated the electromagnets in his servos and once again, thoroughly ran his servos over the was. He felt more than he heard a hiss as something shorted and bookcase next to the now bare wall slid to the side, revealing a sealed door. The two mechs glanced at each other.

"Your doorwings must've felt the heat from the mechanism," Jazz said as he examined the lock on the door. It was not unlike the ones protecting Shockwave's lab in the prison. "Wicked."

"I don't believe they have ever detected anything quite so small," Prowl replied. Or perhaps he had ignored smaller blips during investigations, treating them as "background noise." His logic processor was already recalculating how it would handle any future minute readings. Nothing would ever be ignored again.

It took Jazz longer to crack this lock then it had to crack the lab's locks. It appeared that whatever Shockwave had locked away behind this door, he held it more valuable than he had the lab. Through the comm, Prowl alert their team to the door's discovery. In a klik, femmes called Chromia, and Lancer, a minibot with the designation Bumblebee, and four mechs of standard frames were waiting in the lavish space. Jazz stood after several kliks as the door slid open. Prowl peered over the saboteur's shoulder. The door opened to a flight of stairs.

"I'll go first," Jazz stated and he slowly began to descend the winding flight of stairs. Prowl flared back his door wings and followed immediately after. As they descended the first dozen steps, the smell of stale, dried energon hid them. Not the energon they consumed, but the energon the bled. Jazz glanced back at Prowl with a grim expression on his faceplates. Whatever was at the bottom of these stairs, it was not going to be pretty. When they rounded the last bend of the stairwell, Prowl's doorwings "sang."

"There's a spark pulsing down there," Prowl said, his surprise event in a brief hitch in his vocalizer.

"Primus," Jazz half prayed, and half swore. A bleep flashed over his visor, just after Prowl spoke. Slagging doorwings were more sensitive than his visor. Dread filled his own spark when he realized that the spark was weak. Perhaps weaker than Prowl's spark when Jazz had found him in the dead ruins of Praxus. Though it did seem to be pulsing at a steady rate. He ran down the remaining stairs, with Prowl close on his heels.

At the base of the stairs, they emerged in the Pit, the comparison was fiitting how deep down they had climbed. Immediately across the dimly lit basement, displayed on the wall, was a horrific array of torture devices. Whips whose handles were adorned with precious gems, electrobatons of various sizes, and more. So much more. Jazz had seen a collection like this when he had been held captive. Blind luck had saved him before more than whips and blades were used on his armour and protoform. Jazz look to the next wall, a well crafted berth and a collection of torture devices of a different sort. The saboteur's tank threatened to purge, but he held it down. There was a console parallel to the berth along the wall closest to Jazz. He heard Prowl walked to the other side of the room, his doorwings twitching with distress, and moved to follow him. Prowl raise his servo and shook his helm, without turning to Jazz.

Jazz had no doubt seen horrific things during the war. Praxus alone had been a horror. Prowl knew the other mech worked in Special Operations, he was a saboteur and a spy. He had been capture once, interrogated and tortured before Elita 1 and here femmes had rescued him. This was different a scene of a different type of horror. One Prowl was sadly familiar with. It was the sort of horror that occurred in peace time, as well as in war. The sickness that existed in the processors of some mechs and femme that led them to take pleasure it the sadistic sexual torture, and most always murder, of other Cybertronians. Thankfully, Prowl had only investigated two such cases in his career. Only one had involved a living victim. He reached the cell, it was a cage more than it was a cell. The metal of the bars shone like they were regularly polished. It reminded Prowl of the sort of cage, though much larger, that elite Cybertronians used to house lilleths, rare glass birds. There was a small form curled, deathly still, on the simple berth. This was the origin of the spark.

"Are you functional?" Prowl asked, crouching by the locked door of the berth. Even the lock itself was ornate. Ornate, and of antique style, requiring a key. The form slowly stirred, twisting on the berth to face Prowl.

"Who the slag are you," the minibot's voice crackled. Despite the voice's faintness, it sounded defiant. From what little plating still remained over his protoform, Prowl could see the small mech had primarily red colouring. Two small, badly dented audio horns topped a badly scratched helm.

"My designation is Prowl. I am with the Autobots. We are here to rescue you."

"Pit spawn's an 'Bot," the minibot growled. He shook his helm slowly as if clearing fog from his processor. "Not really though. No. He's a 'Con."

"That is correct," Prowl replied. "Shockwave's true allegiance has been uncovered. That is what led us here."

"Fragged if I do, fragged if I don't," the minibot vented. "Get me out of here."

With no real grace or ceremony, Prowl pulled his weapon and shot the lock. It was convenient that Shockwave preferred beauty to function. Prowl swung the cell door open with more care, and then he waited. The cell's occupant struggled onto his knees and servos, attempting to rise, and sagged back down to the berth. Seeing no other practical option, Prowl placed his weapon on the ground and entered the cell, staying low, keeping is doorwings angled back. When he knelt next to the berth, he removed a warming blanket from his subspace and draped it over the minibot. One dim optic focused on Prowl's faceplates. The other optic was absent, it's socket empty and encrusted with dry energon. The minibot feebly dragged the blanket around himself. He had no plating over his interface systems, not even over his spark.

"Do you have a cube?" The minibot asked. He tried to sit up again, and once again faltered.

"I do," Prowl replied, and took one out of his subspace. "Let me help you sit, and you can drink it."

"'Kay," the minibot agreed. Still he cringed a little when Prowl touched his shoulders and brought him upright. With all his strength, he held the blanket around himself. Prowl did not ask if the minibot could hold it, rather he held the cube to the small mech's lip plates and let him drink. It was evident that the minibot was suffering from energon starvation. This must not have been the first instant because the minibot did not try to gulp down the cube, and force Prowl to withdraw it for fear that he would purge the precious nutrients.

After the cube was drained, Prowl noted, thanks to his doorwings, that the minibot's spark was still pulsing slow. It was not an erratic pulse, often seen after extensive injuries. This slow pulse, at least as far as Prowl could theorize was the result of the minibot's severely depleted energon stores. There were grievous injuries to his frame, but they were old now. The minibot's spark was attempting to conserve energy in response to the lack of fuel, most likely the mech's self repair systems had gone offline. Stasis was not possible for this minibot, if his spark slowed much further, it would be deactivation, not emergency self repair, simply because stasis required energon stores.

"Jazz, summon Ratchet," Prowl ordered. "Everyone else, return to your search."

* * *

><p>"A Praxian Enforcer," the minibot murmured. His remaining optic examined what he could see of Prowl's frame. He had only just been able to make out Prowl's insignia. It was impossible to see clearly as starvation made his vision fuzzy. "Are we in Praxus?"<p>

"We are in Iacon," Prowl replied. The minibot frowned. He'd been taken far from his last home.

"I was in Crystal City," the minibot said. "That's where he got me. Took me all the way north?"

"Apparently so," Prowl replied. "What is your designation?"

"Cliffjumper," the minibot replied. No one had called him by his designation since his kidnapping. Shockwave liked nicknames.

"A medic will be here shortly, Cliffjumper," Prowl said. "I would prefer not to move you until he can assure your well-being."

"Won't slag me to stay here for a few more kliks," Cliffjumper replied with a hint of acidity to his muted, static filled voice. He actually felt safer in the cage than in that room. Shockwave had never "played" with him in the cell. Outside the cell was were Shockwave had tortured his spark, his ports, his valve... Cliffjumper shuddered violently, and his fuel tank threatened to purge. Don't think about it... Just don't. Mercifully, Prowl said nothing. He did not try to console Cliffjumper. His presence was quiet, and oddly calming.

"What're you doing in Iacon?" Cliffjumper asked. Ask questions, don't think about Shockwave. Don't let your processor wander. "Thought Praxians wanted to stay outta the war."

"Praxus was destroyed," Prowl explained. He was toneless. Cliffjumper had encountered more than a few Enforcers in his life, some had been drone-like, other's more emotive. Prowl didn't remind him of either. He sounded drone-like but what he said, and maybe even how he said it, gave Prowl the appearance of a thoughtful mech. His doorwings moved too. When he said Praxus was destroyed, the fell lower on his back and quivered. Cliffjumper's optic had barely caught the movement. The Enforcer put up a good front.

"Slag," Cliffjumper swore and slowly shook his helm. Praxus was south of Crystal City. Would the home of the Towers be next? No, Cliffjumper let the rage he had cultivated to give him focus on something other than Shockwave, banish any fears for that mech. Traitorous fop could got to the Pit.

"Doc-Bot's pulled up," Jazz, the only mech Prowl had not shooed away, announced. Cliffjumper hadn't seen this mech yet. He was keeping well away from the cell, giving Prowl and Cliffjumper a wide berth.

Cliffjumper shivered and shrank into himself, in spite of himself. Medical examination were invasive. They were always invasive. Medics plugged diagnostic cables into any number of ports available on a mech or femme's protoform. They read their patients own diagnostic and error reports, read their code. But the worst for Cliffjumper was the very idea of anything plugging in to any of his ports. Shockwave had used every one of them. Cables, thin shock batons, anything that he could force into a port, he had. More than a few of Cliffjumper's ports had shorted out. His interface ports surrounding his spark, were blackened, and the sensors and connectors dead from one especially horrific session.

The echo of peds running down the metal stairs only exacerbated Cliffjumper's dread. He didn't want to be prodded. He sure as slag didn't want to be examined. Realistically, Cliffjumper knew it was necessary; he was not so processor addled that he did not realize he needed extensive repairs. Of course he did. No part of Cliffjumper didn't hurt. It had been a mercy when energon depletion numbed his protoform, and his spark and Cliffjumper had finally received some relief from the pain overlapping even more pain. After almost an orn had passed, Cliffjumper had become certain that Shockwave had left him to deactivate, and he had curled into a ball on the berth, and waited. Was he strong enough to last or was energon depletion how he would deactivate, after all of this? It had tormented him that he had hoped for Shockwave's return. Despite everything, Cliffjumper wasn't ready to join the Well just yet. Rescue, rescue had not even come to mind. Who would have known he was even missing?

"Over there, Ratchet," Jazz directed when the medic stepped into Shockwave's play room. A string of curses, more creative than anything Cliffjumper had ever utter, came as his answer. Cliffjumper tried to brace himself against Prowl's servos, and against the bars of his cage. He wanted to shrink into the size of a sparkling, but pride demanded he face this next challenge helm on. His spark raced, and Cliffjumper tightened the blanket around himself as the medic ducked into the cell. Mostly white, with accents of red and black, Ratchet looked rather nondescript. Prowl moved to step aside, and leave Cliffjumper to the medic. Panic, unexpectedly, raced through Cliffjumper's taxed systems.

"Please," he said. He glanced almost frantically from Prowl to Ratchet. Thank Primus, Prowl understood.

"Would it be possible if I remained?" Prowl asked Ratchet as the medic came to sit in front of Cliffjumper. It infuriated a part of Cliffjumper, the part of him that remained defiant through this ordeal, that he needed to lean, emotional or physically on anyone.

"Sure," Ratchet replied. "I'm only doing a cursory examine."

It was hard not to shrink under the medic's penetrative optics, even has he seemed to try and soften his gaze. Cliffjumper kept a tight grip on the blanket, keeping every port, and his tired spark hidden. If this gesture exacerbated Ratchet, the medic made no sign of it. Instead of withdrawing a diagnostic cable, Ratchet removed an odd looking datapad from his subspace.

"I'm going to use this diagnostic pad to read your EM field," Ratchet explained. "It'll give me all the information I need before I decide if we can move you safely without immediate repairs."

That was a relief and Cliffjumper felt himself relax without his volition. He offlined his remaining optic, finding it to draining now to keep it online. His survival programs had kept him alert, and focused with the arrival of the Autobots. Keeping up that focus was too much for him now. The diagnostic bad made no sound, and Ratchet did not offer any commentary as he read Cliffjumper's field. After a few kliks, Ratchet returned the diagnostic pad to his subspace.

"You're in no danger of deactivating imminently," Ratchet announced. "I'd like to transport you to my clinic so I can begin repairs."

"Fine," Cliffjumper said, he gave up trying to clear the static from his voice. He was so drained.

"Let's move," Ratchet ordered. Cliffjumper didn't online his optic as Prowl carried him across the dungeon. He was never going to have to see this Pit ever again. Whatever he had to tolerate when it came to the repairs looming ahead of him, Cliffjumper would been it all helm on.

End Chapter 7

* * *

><p>AN: This chapter should have been posted a few days ago but I've only just taken the time to edit it. And I can't say it was all that well edited. I have the Galvatron of sinus colds and the work week from hell combined into one tidy package. I am working on the various fics (if you are ready my other stories) just a little slow going since the only thing I want to do to characters when I am sick is torture the shit out of them.<p> 


End file.
